


Boba Fett, the Last of Clan Mereel

by Bookboy



Series: Cin Vehtin [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Found Families, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, So many OCs, Therapy, clone culture, dragging this grumpy boy into some character development one way or another, fialleril's slave culture, normalization of therapy, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookboy/pseuds/Bookboy
Summary: When he needed something to happen, Anakin Naberrie did not mess around.Or:In which Boba Fett finds himself sprung from prison by the unlikeliest of people. Or the likeliest, depending on your point of view.EDIT 8/20/2020: I have made some light edits to the formatting and some details of the story, as well as updated tags and added some additional notes. Not needed to go back and re-read, but I recommend it.
Relationships: CC-2224|Cody/CC-1004|Gree
Series: Cin Vehtin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631416
Comments: 82
Kudos: 152





	1. Jailbreak

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Six Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018125) by [tanarill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanarill/pseuds/tanarill). 



> Hello! So this is the first installment of a multi-part series that is basically me cherry-picking the parts I love from, like, six different fanfics, shoving them in a blender, and chugging the resulting fan-smoothie. Yum. Follow me down the rabbit hole if you dare. 
> 
> Works either referenced or directly stolen from in this series include but are not limited to: 
> 
> The Probability Matrices series by tanarill  
> Haruu by Reulte  
> Slick's Squad series by Reulte  
> The Desert Storm series by Blue_Sunshine
> 
> Arreru is not mine, he's tanarill's, but Tor and Tal are mine. Boba, Anakin, Cody, and Obi-Wan, obviously, are canon. 
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I know how this story is going to end, and have a rough road map to get there, but I'm still getting it all down on paper so my update schedule will be... look, there is no schedule. I have like three chapters ready and then nothing. Apologies in advance. If anyone wants to volunteer to be my beta and personally try to slave-drive me into completing something for once in my life, though, I'm open to that!
> 
> This fic is interactive! For all underlined Mando'a words, simply hover over them for the translation! Clicking on them will take you to the Mando'a site I primarily use. 
> 
> On with the fic!

Boba did not, as a rule, receive mail. Not from anyone other than his lawyer; and his lawyer, like everyone else's lawyer, was busy. There was a lot of work, and it was mostly more lucrative than pro bono work for an incarcerated juvenile. Even one who'd attempted, and very nearly succeeded, in killing the Jedi Grand Master. And yet...

_Do you want to get out of there?_

He stared at the message, which refused to go away. On the one hand, he considered, it wasn't like anyone in this pit didn't want to get out of here. There was no really good reason not to answer honestly. On the other hand, he couldn't see what anyone had to gain by helping him, which meant almost certainly that it was a trap.

**_Who is this?_ **

He didn't expect an immediate answer, so he was surprised when his 'pad pinged an incoming message only a few minutes later. It was, given the security on this place and the question of electronic lag, probably the minimum possible time. Too minimum, in fact, for there to be any ansible bounce involved at all. Whoever it was, they were on Coruscant. He thumbed opened the message, curiosity piqued.

_Naberrie._

He stared. It wasn't that he had trouble believing it; this was, according to basically every action he'd ever taken and everything anyone could figure out about the man, exactly the sort of thing he'd do. It wasn't like he didn't have the pull to get a direct line to someone in maximum-security. It was just... Some of his motives, like the scandal that began with Orn Free Taa and was probably going to end with a war, were totally explicable. Some, like the _Gravity,_ were explicable only in hindsight. Some were like this.

**_Why?_ **

Again, the response was pretty close to instantaneous.

_I want to make a point to Windu._

That made a certain kind of sense, he thought. It was nothing to do with him at all. Therefore, it was probably safe.

**_What will I owe you?_ **

_Nothing. I owe you a year and a day. This will not clear it, but it is at least a start. I pay my debts._

A year and a day. That was standard, for a certain kind of debt.

**_You did not kill him._ **

_I did nothing to stop it, either. I was a Jedi, at the time._

It was hardly an original ploy: the Mandalore Wars were full of exactly this kind of rules-lawyering around debts and honor. Still, he recognized that Naberrie was attempting to give him a way out of what would, now that the war was over, otherwise be a suicidally heavy blood debt. If he took it, no Mand'alor worthy of the name could fault him for it. If he didn't, in fact, he'd probably be declared the same kind of insane as Viszla: [dar'manda](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html), with all that implied.

**_You do not give people blank cheques._ **

_I do not. I will stand as your legal guardian until you hit galactic majority. Or I will give you a suit of armor, a fast ship, and some useful connections. It is up to you._

**_I want to talk to Windu._ **

_That can be arranged._

**_I want to talk to Kyrze._ **

The response didn't come in for an hour, long enough that he'd stopped waiting for it and begun reading up on Mandalorian law by the time it did. The content explained the wait.

_Kyrze does not want to talk to you. I think I can swing it, if I can show that my way works. You will have to pretend to be nice for at least a few months._

What would it be like, he thought, to be the kind of person who could just ask a planetary leader to talk to someone? 'Some useful connections,' indeed!

 **_I want to talk to Viszla_ ** _._

_Talk, or negotiate?_

He stared down at the pad. There was a particular meaning that the word 'negotiate' acquired in conjunction with Skywalker. So far, it didn't seem to apply the same way to Naberrie, and yet - assassinating Sidious. The Clone Personhood Act. The new Judicial Charter. Slowly, he felt a grin begin to spread over his face.

**_I want you to teach me._ **

_You are not Force-sensitive._

He rolled his eyes, even though there was no one there to see.

**_You do not ever fight, and you do not ever lose. Teach me._ **

_That will take more than a year and a day. Much more._

**_So?_ **

He sat there, waiting for a response. It was a while coming. Probably someone on Naberrie's end was shouting. Probably, Naberrie was not fighting and not losing.

 _Done.[Vode an ](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html)_.

  
  


When he needed something to happen, Naberrie did not mess around. Boba had known, of course. It just hadn't prepared him for the way that, a little more than two tendays after Naberrie's first message had popped up on his datapad, a judge was declaring that his imprisonment in the first place had been a war crime. Not that he was free, of course: he had attempted to assassinate Windu, and he had nearly succeeded. He just hadn't had a fair trial and, more importantly, he'd been twelve at the time and therefore the entire crime was subject to the juvenile courts.

In the meantime, he was to be released on bail, and a close relative was supposed to take charge of him. This "close relative" was, to Boba's surprise, a clone by the name of Cody. The judge had attempted to balk at that; at least, they had until his new lawyer- courtesy of the Naar- pointed out that he and the clones were genetically identical, and it didn't get closer than that. Besides, it wasn't like the state wasn't _still_ stretched almost to the breaking point finding homes for war orphans, and there were far worse places for him to be than in the custody of a decorated war veteran. Boba was almost disappointed he folded, not sure if he wanted to be in the custody of someone that might resent him, if not for his connection to the death of one of theirs, then for being Jango's chosen son. 

None of this fooled anyone, of course; but there wasn’t much argument _against_ it either, and the judge signed off on it all the same. 

There wasn’t any shouting. He got the distinct impression that everyone- the judge, the state attorney, even the bailiff- wanted to shout, wanted to fight, but they didn’t. The Naar lawyer spoke softly, and even without being in the same room, Naberrie didn’t lose. 

A date for the beginning of his retrial was set six months into the future, then he was waved out of the room, his lawyer escorting him as the next case was called. A good thing, too; Boba wasn't sure he would have been able to find his way out in his stunned haze.

They were met in the lobby by a clone in white armor with yellow-orange markings. He had his bucket off, tucked under his arm, allowing Boba a clear view of neatly crewcut hair that was just starting to gray at the temples and a long scar that curved jaggedly around one of his eyes. His face was stern, but he offered Boba a small smile as he approached. Boba felt like the air was punched from his lungs at that smile, reminded far too closely of [Buir](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). He scowled back at the clone, forcing himself to feel affronted by the cheap replica of his Buir. He was worried he might cry otherwise.

Cody, however, didn’t seem off-put at all by his hostility. Instead, he offered the Naar lawyer a polite nod that she returned before disappearing into the busy lobby without a word or backward glance, leaving Boba alone with this stranger. Once she was gone, Cody bent to grab the handle of a military-issue duffel by his feet, hefting it over his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked, businesslike, a slight Coruscanti accent to his Basic.

Boba blinked, thrown yet again. “What about my stuff?” he asked weakly. 

Cody gave the duffel a small lift, drawing Boba’s attention back to it. “The prison packed it up for you. Got your gear and the gear they had in storage, too.” 

Boba’s eyes were suddenly glued to the duffel. His Buir’s [beskar’gam](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) was _right there._ He hadn’t touched it in four years. His hands itched. Attempting to distract himself- he would not embarrass his Buir's memory by making a scene and demanding to look over the beskar’gam right now, damn the witnesses- he nodded vaguely to the earlier question. “I’m ready.” 

The lie was delivered quite believably, he felt. Cody gave no indication one way or the other, merely nodding and turning to stride confidently off. Boba fell in behind him. He couldn’t help tensing slightly as they passed the guard station at the main entrance, the part of him that was used to being a prisoner at this point half-expecting them to tackle him and drag him back- but nothing happened. They barely even glanced at the pair as they marched past. Boba barely managed to contain a stupid grin, his belly swooping giddily. This was really happening. He had to admit, he was impressed.

Curiosity overcoming his fading shock, Boba glanced at his new guardian. “Where are we going?” he asked. Couldn’t hurt to ask, even if he probably wouldn’t answer. 

Cody surprised him yet again. “Got to pick up the kids,” he replied easily. “Then it’s on to the spaceport. We have a ship to catch.” 

Boba nodded, and was about to answer, when he startled, nearly tripping over his own feet and head whipping to stare at the clone. Cody had answered him in Mando’a. The older clone looked over his shoulder at his stumble, raising an eyebrow. 

Boba scowled again, lifting his chin defiantly, daring him to say anything about his near face-plant. Cody didn’t. “Where are we picking up your kids from?” Boba asked tersely instead, switching to Mando’a as well. Partly to test Cody, and partly because it felt good to speak his cradle language. He hadn’t had a full conversation in pure Mando’a with someone since his Buir had died. 

“Here,” Cody answered cheekily, turning to enter a storefront so fast Boba almost didn’t turn in time to keep up. _Showoff_ , he thought sourly to himself. 

‘Here’ turned out to be a small diner, primarily decorated in red and white. The air inside was hot and smelled greasy, the kind of smell that heralded delicious food that would kill you if you ate too much of it. A passing droid, obviously acting the part of the waitress, greeted them in a nasally tone as she rolled past, balancing a massive tray of dishes. 

Cody had paused, scoping out the inside, but within a moment he was off again, making a beeline for a booth closer to the back currently occupied by four figures. Boba followed more slowly, reasonably confident he wouldn’t be left behind and wanting to take a moment to observe both his new guardian and his children more carefully. 

“[BU!](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html)” A sharp, excited cry went up, two small figures scrambling off the bench and darting over to collide with Cody’s hips. Boba blinked, recognizing a pair of clone younglings; maybe a year out of their tubes, at best. They looked just like Boba remembered most cadets looked; neatly trimmed hair in the same crewcut as Cody, dressed in simple blue uniforms with red sleeves, the standard outfit worn by all cadets on Kamino. Bluebacks, he dimly remembered. Before they graduated to armor and all red fatigues, they were sometimes called bluebacks thanks to their mostly blue uniforms. 

But they moved like actual younglings, not cadets, all gangly growth spurt inelegance and eagerness. Uncontrolled. They grinned sunnily up at Cody, hero-worship shining in their eyes. 

Cody chuckled indulgently, ruffling short hair with his free hand. “Hello, there,” he greeted them fondly, still in Mando’a. “Have you been good for your uncle?” 

“Not even a little bit,” a vaguely familiar voice answered (also in Mando’a) on their behalf from the booth, the cadets giggling and nodding in agreement. Boba shifted his gaze back to the booth, finding the speaker; a fair-skinned human man with coppery colored hair that nearly reached his shoulders and a neat matching beard. He was dressed like a Jedi in tan layered tunics, but there was the high neck of a thermal peeking up past the collar of the tunics and his eyes were a warm yellow that allowed Boba to firmly peg him as Naar. Obi-Wan Kenobi, he identified the man, a distant memory of the same man standing in the doorway next to Taun We on Kamino springing to mind. Kenobi had come right before everything changed, like a harbinger of doom.

“They’re going to give me gray hair,” Kenobi continued with a put-upon sigh, seeming unaware of the storm currently brewing in the Mandalorian teen. The cadets giggled at his words, entirely unaffected by his mild glare. 

“Oh good,” Cody replied flippantly. “You deserve every one.” He looked down to the cadets, stage whispering, “Your uncle used to give me the worst scares, him and his student. Always running off on some half-baked plan I would have to rescue them from.” The cadets giggled again, letting Cody herd them back to the booth. 

“Har har,” Kenobi deadpanned. “I wouldn’t tease about gray hair if I was you, Commander.” 

“On the contrary, General,” Cody- wait, what the kriff, _Commander?!_ \- replied, still snippy. “ _You_ gave me every one of these gray hairs. You and your padawan. Compared to you two, the boys are practically docile.” 

“Like nuna,” one of the cadets piped up, somehow coming off as completely sincere and mocking at the same time. 

“Or porgs,” the other one chimed in. 

“Little angels,” the last member of the group finished in a richly accented voice, the three nodding firmly at the same time in a move that spoke of an old, inside joke. The last one was a weedy, slender Zygerian about his own age, tawny furred and tawny eyed, sitting next to Kenobi in the booth in the same blue uniform as the cadets. Something about his body language was shy, reserved, but he broke out into a sincere smile when the joke finished, joining in on the laughter. 

Cody guffawed heartily, reaching out to rub the top of the Zygerian's head like he had ruffled the young clones' hair. The Zygerian ducked his head, his ears twitching out of the way and batting the hand away, but he still smiled. "That's my son," Cody chuckled fondly, and Boba had to fight the tears again, along with a swell of jealousy. 

Kenobi rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in mock offended exasperation. "Well I know when I'm outnumbered. I shall take my leave," he huffed. He was sitting on the inside of the booth, but that didn't even give him pause; he fluidly stood on the bench, then stepped up onto the back of the bench, walking along the narrow ledge casually and dropping down to the floor to stand by Cody, all fluid, confident Jedi grace and ease. 

The younglings stared at him, their eyes bright and mouths dropped open in unabashed admiration. 

Cody sighed. "Do you think you could take your revenge for my slights in ways that _don't_ result in my sons causing damage to my furniture attempting to copy you? At least once?" He grumbled, tone resigned. One of the cadets was eyeing the back of his booth bench speculatively already.

Kenobi smirked. "Why Cody," he chuckled, "I'm offended. You know revenge isn't the Jedi way." 

"You're Naar," Cody bit back, but returned the brothers' clasp Kenobi offered. 

Kenobi merely laughed merrily and turned to the passing waitress droid. "Remember to put their bill on my tab, Dot," he instructed the droid in crisp Basic. The droid chirped an affirmative as it rolled off. 

"You don't have to do that, General," Cody attempted to protest, but Kenobi waved it off, switching back to Mando’a. 

"Nonsense. The least I could do for my old Commander," he deflected magnanimously. "The boys have already eaten. Please, be sure you eat something before you head out too." His tone turned fondly concerned, and Boba felt like he was glimpsing something much deeper than was said. "Force knows you take care of yourself about as well as I do." 

"Learned from the best," Cody replied, with the same fondness. "Don't think I didn't notice only three plates." 

"Don't worry about me, Anakin and Padame have been force feeding me regularly," Kenobi snorted, rolling his eyes. "I had hoped parenthood would curb both of their enthusiasm, or at least redirect it, but unfortunately it seems to have only exacerbated it. I am well fed."

"Good." Cody nodded firmly, finally releasing Kenobi's arm. "[K’oyacyi, vod](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html)."

"K'oyacyi," Kenobi replied, then turned to offer the three others still sitting on the booth a warm, "Have a good trip home, boys!" in farewell. The three chorused their own goodbye. 

Finally, Kenobi looked at him, and his eyes softened. Boba bristled at that expression of pity. 

“Walk with me, Boba Fett,” he said gently, tipping his head toward the door and beginning to walk toward it. 

Boba blinked in shock, hesitating. He glanced to Cody, who was sitting down in the booth next to the Zygerian, handing over his bucket to one of the cadets, the cadet eagerly snatching it to inspect the details. Cody shrugged, then nodded encouragingly. 

Boba still lingered. “I could run off,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. He had _just_ been released from prison, for kark’s sake. 

“You could. But you won’t,” Cody replied lightly. “I have your gear.” 

Fek. 

Boba leveled a glare at the clone for even the oblique threat to his Buir’s beskar’gam, but turned to follow the ex-Jedi, falling in behind his shoulder like he had with Cody. 

They walked for several moments in silence, weaving through the busy skywalks. Boba was honestly starting to get a little irritated with the crowd; he had gotten used to having a personal bubble in prison. 

Finally, Kenobi spoke. “I also owe you a year and a day.” 

Boba glanced sharply at him. “Do any of the Jedi not feel that way?” he sighed. 

“Most don’t,” Kenobi chuckled, shaking his head. “I believe it’s just me and my former padawan. Though I do agree somewhat with the argument that perhaps all of the Jedi Order owes you and the rest of the clones something.” 

Boba felt his frown deepen. Honestly, he had kind of forgiven the Jedi at large. Even Windu a little bit. He had kept up with the news after the... whatever had happened to Naberrie. He had read through everything the slicers, both official investigators and private citizens, had dug up and published on the holonet about Sideous’ crimes. He had come to realize that Sideous- and maybe Douku- had set him up. His Buir had never been meant to survive Geonosis, much less the war; if it hadn’t been Windu, it would have been someone else swinging the saber.

Didn’t make it easier. But it did make him want to kill Windu a little less.

“Why?” he finally asked, just to fill the silence. 

Kenobi sighed. “I was the only one who knew about you. I knew Jango had a son, and he took you with him when he left Kamino. But in the excitement leading up to Geonosis, and Geonosis itself...” he trailed off and shrugged. “To be honest, I forgot all about you until I was writing up my official report for the Council and the archives a tenday later. I have a terrible memory for that sort of thing, a personal failing of mine. By that time you were nowhere to be found. I assumed your father had left you with friends, family; someone who would care for you. So I didn’t look.” He glanced over his shoulder at Boba, that soft look on his face again, but this time it looked less like pity and more like remorse. Boba still bristled, just on principle. “Perhaps I couldn’t have saved your father. But I could have prevented everything that happened after Geonosis if I had remembered. Made sure you were taken care of. But I didn’t. I accept that debt.” 

Boba swallowed dryly. “And Naberrie?”

Kenobi shrugged. “Anakin drowns in guilt for everything. Events both in and out of his control. His own sins, the sins of others, and sins that were never committed, but he remembers, and thinks he must atone for them anyway.” He crossed his arms over his chest, one hand coming up to stroke at his beard thoughtfully as he walked. “I have no doubt he has a reason, most likely several, but exactly what it is I do not know.” 

Boba frowned at the cryptic response. “When will Naberrie start teaching me?” 

Kenobi’s mouth twitched up in a sarcastic smile. “Who says he hasn’t already?” 

Boba bit back a snarl. He was beginning to see why Buir hated Jedi. 

“But my point is,” Kenobi appeared to finally take pity on him and speak plainly, “I owe you the same debt as Anakin. I, too, repay my debts. When it comes time to talk to Satine,” Boba looked at him sharply again, but Kenobi continued on without pause. “I will sit your corner. We have known each other a long time, she and I; my support will lend your words weight.” He nodded decisively. “And if you ever find yourself in a situation like Geonosis again, contact me. I will assist you in whatever way I can.” He finally drew to a halt, gesturing to a storefront, and said, “Your stop, I believe.” 

Boba startled, realizing they were standing in front of the diner again. They must have just walked in a loop. He faced Kenobi, the ex-Jedi turning to face him squarely as well. He offered Boba a nod; Boba scowled in response and started to turn to go back in. 

“Before you go,” Kenobi’s words stopped him, and he just barely refrained from groaning in annoyance. Long-winded Jedi! “I wasn’t joking when I said Anakin has probably already started teaching you. He has already shown you several lessons, both obvious and oblique; try to observe them.” He hesitated, seeming to want to add something further, but eventually just said, “Take care, young Fett.” 

He turned to stride off confidently into the crowd. Boba watched him go with a frown, mulling over his words. 

  
  
  


Arreru watched the angry looking teenling vod follow Uncle Obi out of Dex’s with concern. He had seen liberated slaves who looked like that, all anger and uncertainty, but never a vod, at least not one as young as he.

“Who’s that, Bu?” Tor asked curiously. Tal was still distracted by the back of the booth bench, obviously contemplating attempting to copy Uncle Obi, but perked up in interest as well. 

“That,” Buir sighed, a complicated look flitting over his face, “Is Boba Fett.” He paused thoughtfully before adding, “Naberrie asked me to come and bring him back to Cin Vehtin, then watch over him. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.” 

“Is he going to be our [ori’vod](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) too?” Tor pressed, his hands absently tracing the ridges of Buir’s bucket. 

Buir frowned, meeting each of their eyes before answering slowly. “Boba is different from most vode. He wasn’t raised with the rest of us, and doesn't really know what that means.” Tor’s attention finally turned away from the bench, both his and Tal’s eyes going wide in horror at that thought. “For now, he’s just going to bunk with us. If you decide you want him as your ori’vode, that’s between you and him, but he may not accept you. Just like you can decide not to accept him. Ok?” 

Tor and Tal both nodded, though they were obviously still bothered by the idea of a vod being ignorant of their clan’s ways. 

Dot came rolling up then, asking if they needed anything else. Buir ordered two plates of Kalla noodles, extra spicy, and four dishes of sweet cream, the promise of the frozen treat neatly taking the boy’s attention off their thoughts about Boba, beginning to babble excitedly about the available flavors.

Arreru smiled as well. He also liked sweet cream, but he was not so easily distracted. “Where has he been, Buir?” he asked Buir quietly. 

Buir turned his deep gold eyes to him, something pained and regretful in them. “That is up to him to decide to tell you or not. I have not told him anything about you, and I will do the same for him.” Arreru nodded in acceptance; it was fair, though he felt his ear twitch in irritation at the mystery. Buir chuckled. “You’re not wrong to worry for him, my son. He will need a friend, I think. But do not push him.” 

Arreru hummed thoughtfully. 


	2. Off on a Whirlwind Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Boba is a teenager. So he swears. A lot. You have been warned.

Boba slowly wandered back into the diner, barely seeing where he was going as he thought. He almost startled _again_ when he found himself standing beside the table where Cody and his sons sat, all four looking up at him with various levels of curiosity. He fought the urge to blush. 

“Boys,” Cody broke the awkward silence, turning away from Boba to cast his gaze over his sons, who all looked attentively to him. “This is Boba. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.” 

He paused, perhaps waiting for any comments, before turning back to Boba. “Boba Fett, these are my sons; Tal,” One of the cadets waved, and Boba noted he had a small red woven bracelet hidden just under his shirtsleeve, on his right wrist. “Tor,” the second, Cody’s helmet still on his lap, waved as well; he also had a bracelet, his green. “And Arreru.” His hand moved to the Zygerian’s shoulder, claiming him proudly. Tawny ears flattened out to the sides, his face ducking, but not before Boba caught an expression of embarrassed pleasure. 

Boba considered the group before him, they considering him right back, obviously waiting for him to make the first move. Something Naberrie had said floated to the front of his mind; _You’ll have to pretend to be nice for at least a few months._

He barely held back a sigh, resigning himself to his fate. “Hi,” he offered tersely. 

“Hi!” Tal burst, and immediately he was rambling, his hands gesturing animatedly. Boba wasn’t even sure what _about_ , he was just _going_. He numbly watched the youngling chatter, obviously not expecting any kind of responses to his words, sliding into the booth when the two younglings shifted to make space for him on the bench. 

It wasn’t long before the waitress droid came by, dropping off two steaming plates- Cody had apparently ordered for him while he was with Kenobi- and four dishes of frozen sweet cream. The boys all took a dish, digging in with excitement; Boba gathered it was a special treat. He tucked into the noodle dish he had been served, pleased to find it was spicy and greasy and to his prison-food deadened palette, absolutely _delicious_. 

He practically inhaled his food in silence, looking up at Cody across from him when the older clone pushed the fourth dish of frozen cream toward him. 

“Who did you think it was for?” Cody asked with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile. Boba refused to return it, but did take the frozen cream. It was also delicious. 

Once they were all finished, Boba feeling decidedly more human with good food in his belly, Cody slipped back on his bucket and gathered them up, leading them out. Boba watched him take the duffel with a bitter resentment, aware now that it was being used as a leash for him. He voiced no complaint, but didn’t miss Arreru shooting him a concerned glance anyway. He ignored the other teenling. 

They trooped together through the complex Corusanti public transport system, Cody leading the way with Tal’s hand in his, Arreru holding Tor’s hand right behind him, and a surly Boba bringing up the rear. Tal provided a running commentary the whole way, pointing out everything that caught his eye, Tor occasionally interrupting his brother to add his own observations or attempt to correct him. Tor was just as loud and opinionated as his brother, just seemed to have less to say. Arreru remained quiet, and stuck close to Cody, his feline gaze alert and almost paranoid as they traveled. Cody also didn’t speak save for indulgent little one or two syllable responses to direct questions from either Tor or Tal, but he still seemed to radiate protective affection and easy confidence; the regal presence of a lothcat watching over its cubs. 

“Bu, are we going to go get Arreru’s armor when we get home?” Tor asked, seemingly out of the black. “It was his lifeday yesterday. You said we get armor on our sixteenth lifeday!” 

Boba blinked, tuning back into the conversation. 

Cody didn’t even think about it, nodding immediately. “ _Of course. As soon as we get back, I’ll be making an appointment with the armorsmiths._ ” 

A small smile found Arreru’s face, his thin shoulders straightening a bit in something that resembled pride. Both his younger brothers beamed at him, idolization in their eyes. Less than the worship they had in their eyes for Cody, but still there. 

Cody’s faceplate turned to face Boba. “ _You’re sixteen, aren’t you?_ ”

Boba frowned, but nodded. 

“ _Do you want armor?_ ” 

Boba didn’t even have to think. “I have armor. It doesn’t fit me yet, but it will soon.” 

Cody’s bucket inclined slightly in acknowledgement. “ _True. If you decide you want some in the meantime, we will get you some armor._ ” A chuckle sounded from his external comm, slightly distorted. “ _You’d stick out like a sore thumb without it. Most brothers your age practically sleep in their armor the first few months, they’re so proud of it. Even if it is shiny._ ” 

Boba frowned. “I thought you didn’t get armor until you completed the training program,” he half-asked, half-remembered from his childhood. 

He could almost feel Cody’s eye roll. “ _We have left behind the program,_ ” he declared. “ _The Codex states armor may be claimed at sixteen, so that is the age we allow our children and little brothers to do so now._ ” 

Boba went quiet, absorbing that. Thankfully, Tal spotted something shiny and remarked upon it, starting up his running commentary yet again, and the family let him be. 

It wasn't long before they were standing in line at the spaceport to board a surface-to-orbit shuttle, surrounded by Fett Clones. Most of them were in armor like Cody’s, painted in a rainbow of colors and patterns, the rest in various uniforms. It was surreal; even when he had lived on Kamino, millions of clones only a few corridors away, Boba had really only seen them from afar. Buir hadn't wanted him to mix with the 'copies'. He had interacted with the Nulls on occasion, but Skirata and Buir had not liked each other either, and it made both Boba and the Nulls wary. When he had tried to assassinate Windu, he had been among clones; but only for a short time, a small group, and he had been distracted by the mission. This was different.

Now, everywhere he looked he either saw his father's or his own face. Some of them were distinct enough, through scars, tattoos, hairstyles, or other details he was almost able to fool himself into thinking they were siblings rather than clones, but the illusion didn't quite work. Eventually he stopped looking at anyone, the cognitive dissonance too much.

Boba felt his skin prickle in anticipation, waiting tensely for someone to recognize him, for accusing stares and stars knew what else-

"You alright, little brother?"

His head snapped up from where it had been staring at his shoes, slowly grinding his teeth, meeting the concerned gaze of a clone a few years older than him. Well, physically, anyway; not even the Nulls were actually literally older than him. Huh. That was a weird thought. 

He focused again, bristling when he realized everyone was staring at him, those with uncovered faces displaying some level of concern. Even Tor and Tal were looking up at him from where they had drifted under Cody's arms, flanking his legs, though they were more curious than anything. 

"I'm fine," he bit out, trying to make it clear from his tone that he was _not_ inviting any further probing. He was moderately successful, most of them turning away, but not all. 

The clone who had spoken was one of those that kept staring. "Testy one you've got here, Cody," he commented, and though he was addressing Cody, his eyes never left Boba, still concerned. Boba glared at him, fighting the urge to punch him. That same urge had landed him a lot of days in solitary.

" _He's just had a busy day, is all_ ," Cody replied evenly. " _He's a bit overwhelmed._ "

The clone nodded, some of the concern easing off his face and being replaced with understanding. Boba felt his glare deepen. How dare any of these copies presume to think they understood anything? And Cody could shove his patronizing where the stars didn’t shine, he was not a child. Especially not _his_ child.

His glare whipped around to Arreru when the Zygerian cautiously stepped to his side. The slightly younger boy was tense, likely he was worried he would be hit, but his expression was all compassionate concern. "It's ok if you're not, you know," he said, softly. Sincere. 

The kindness smarted. Boba sneered and turned away coldly. 

The subject was finally abandoned as boarding began in earnest. The clones chatted casually on the trip up in a strange mix of Basic and Mando’a, with sprinklings of other languages thrown in for flavor; the exact proportions of each language appeared to differ from clone to clone, from Cody’s pure Mando’a to clones that only used the term ‘vod’ and Basic for everything else, but somehow they all seemed to understand each other. By the time they docked with an orbiting passenger cruiser, also apparently manned mostly by clones, Boba had mostly adjusted to it, but he could still feel the beginnings of a headache from constantly jumping from one language to another. 

He followed Cody once again through compact corridors to a small travel cabin, which was already clearly occupied. There were six sleeper bunks inset into the walls, four already turned down with duffels at the feet of them. Cody placed the duffel he had carried since the courthouse at the foot of one of the unoccupied bunks, silently declaring it where Boba would apparently sleep. 

Boba darted forward as soon as Cody moved away from the bunk, tearing it open. There wasn’t much; a few odds and ends he had managed to collect over his incarceration, some datachips, a few sets of clothes, the clothes he had been arrested in. And at the bottom, his Buir’s armor. It wasn’t complete anymore, the helmet lost to the assassination attempt, but his hands still shook as they touched the cold, firm [beskar](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). 

A thrown object landed on his bunk with a soft thump. He jerked, but it was just a small kit. 

“Here,” Cody said lightly. “Glad Naberrie told me to bring a spare. You can have it.” 

Boba nodded tightly and took it without looking at him. It was a rather nice armor care kit, honestly. He sat on the bunk and carefully cleaned the dusty armor, applying lubricant and protective wax; refamiliarizing himself with each piece's curves and edges. The others were either smart or considerate enough to leave him be as he worked. 

By the time he was finished and had packed the armor neatly away, his anger and foul mood had mostly abated, leaving him feeling more tired than anything. Curiously, he checked the chrono on his datapadd; only six hours had passed since he left his cell for the courthouse that morning, fully expecting to be back later that day after another failed appeal. Instead, he was leaving Coruscant altogether, headed for... actually, where were they going? He felt a flush of shame he hadn’t even thought to ask after Cody had neatly derailed him with Mando'a and his children.

Cody raised an eyebrow at his question, the expression clearly conveying the message of ‘finally remembered that question?’, but he answered, never pausing in his task, which was apparently cleaning a blaster at a small collapsible table attached to the wall, Arreru sitting across from him reading a datapadd. “[Cin Vehtin](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). It’s a nice little seedworld on a newer hyperoute in the Midrim. Standard gravity, lots of water, fresh air. You’ll like it.” 

“It’s real nice,” Tal piped up from where he and Tor were sitting on one of the other bunks, facing each other, a portable hologame in between them. “We live in Di’base, not Aloriya, but you can’t land in Di’base if you’re not a Judi- Judisee- Ju-” his nose scrunched as he struggled with the word.

“Judicial,” Arreru pronounced the word slowly, not looking up from his datapadd. 

“Yeah, that,” Tal nodded. “If you’re not a Judi-whatsit ship. And even they don’t land if they don’t have’ta. So we’re gonna get off in [Aloriya](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) with everyone else and then take a transport.” He paused to make a move in the game that made Tor grumble with annoyance. “Di’base is in a desert, so it’s hot, but it’s really pretty, too. At night you can see _all_ the stars. And we get to help with all the new kids!” He grinned at this prospect. 

Boba blinked. “The new kids?” 

Cody picked up the explanation again. “The slave orphans. Those who, once we free them, have no home to go to are welcome to join us. Younglings especially. We’ve started calling them the [Vode’ade](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html).” He checked the trueness of the barrel with a squinted eye. “Since, between the Vode’ade and the [vod'ike,](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) there’s far more younglings than adults, we form them into creches. The creches always need helping hands.” 

“It’s fun! We get to show them all the games,” Tal added eagerly, still grinning giddily.

Boba frowned. “If it’s so nice, why hasn’t it been settled before?” 

“Two reasons,” Cody answered bluntly. “One, it’s hyperlane was only recently mapped out. Two, it’s a class D seedworld. There are a stunning array of predators. Lots of them fairly large.” 

Boba nodded. That would do it. “Nothing easier to settle?”

“It’s not that,” Cody shook his head, turning a serious look to Boba. “Conflict is necessary to grow, to prove yourself. But conflict, without the needless suffering of innocents, is difficult to come by. This way is... pure.” 

Boba went quiet again, considering that and thinking about mythosaurs.

After they were settled and the ship had left orbit, Cody took them all to the shipboard range. Boba followed, mostly just because watching blaster practice was more entertaining than staring at the gray walls of the cabin. He hung back a bit and watched as Arreru chose a blaster from the weapons locker, a small but accurate pistol that he handled with familiarity. 

"Boba," Cody called his name, catching his attention. Boba raised an eyebrow in response. "What kind of blaster do you use?"

Boba blinked. "I'm not allowed a blaster," he pointed out. Had Cody not been advised of the terms of his parole? 

"I won't tell if you won't," Cody shrugged. "You're going to need one anyway, where we're going. What kind?" 

Boba stared at him for a moment, but slowly answered. "Last one I used was a modified JXP-21-R,” he said. “Modified because the-” 

“Powerpack keeps jamming,” Cody finished with him, nodding. “Naberrie came up with a fix for that. Or remembered it, or however that works. Here. Try the JXP-21-N.” He pulled out a blaster and handed it to him. 

Boba glanced around; there were several other clones here, and not a single one even raised an eyebrow at him blatantly breaking his bail. He stepped into the lane beside Arreru, and began to fire. Cody watched him for a few minutes, apparently checking he knew and followed proper range etiquette, then went to Tor and Tal, getting a blaster rifle and beginning to coach them in firing the weapon. 

He had always been a good shot, but he hadn’t been allowed to practice while in prison and it showed. It didn’t help that the fix, while it did fix the powerpack issue, accidentally made the weapon too smooth now for any kind of real trigger discipline. He went back to the weapons locker and began to peruse, looking for something else to try. The locker had everything from tiny concealable one-shot blasters to anti-tank weaponry, so he was spoilt for choices. One of the clones noticed him looking and struck up a conversation on the pros and cons of different blasters, which segued neatly into a discussion of grenades. 

Passing clones just sort of jumped in after that to talk about various kinds of antitank weaponry, which turned into talking about AT-ATs, how close was too close for air support, and fekking larties. It felt good to talk weapons again with people who understood them, even if it was with his Buir’s copies in that annoying mix of Mando’a and Basic. But he stuck with just Mando’a, and no one protested.

“And do not even get started on the travesty that is the _Clawcraft_ ,” said one of them, so of course they spent the next half hour talking about nothing but the _Clawcraft_ while he distractedly continued to try to choose a blaster. Actually, he kind of wanted to see one; they were right about the limited utility in strategic warfare, but they were meant to be used only in close ship-to-ship combat. They went kind of quiet when he said this out loud.

“Brother has a point,” said one of them.

“Yeah,” the one that had started talking to him agreed. “Hey, little brother, I didn’t catch your name.” 

For a split second, he considered telling them his name was Lucky. “Boba,” he said. No use trying to hide his identity, it wasn’t like he was ashamed or anything. 

A hush settled over the small crowd as they did a double take. Boba couldn’t bring himself to look any one of them in the face. 

“Yeah?” the first one asked. 

“Yeah,” Boba bit back, tone daring them to argue. 

“They say you tried to kill General Windu,” another mentioned, falsely casual. 

“I did.” 

“And you _did_ kill Ponds.” 

Boba frowned, studying the blaster in his hands currently without really seeing it. “Sing killed Ponds. I didn’t think she should. A good bounty hunter is never supposed to kill off target, but she turned out to be fekking crazy.” 

“Why’d you team up with her, then?” 

“I thought we were after the same thing.” He shrugged. “Windu killed my Buir. She said she wanted to help me settle the score. In the end she ditched me without hesitation.” 

“Windu killed Fett,” Cody agreed. Boba looked at him, a bit startled, not having realized he wasn’t working with the cadets anymore. Cody looked at him calculatingly. “What are you going to do now if not repay him?” 

“Naberrie took on the debt,” he explained. 

“Can he do that?” one of the other clones asked curiously. 

“The entirety of the Mandalorian Wars says he can,” Boba replied. “He took the debt, and offered me something better than revenge. I took the offer.” 

“Must have been some deal.” 

“It was.” 

Eyes flicked to Cody. “And you, Cody? Why are you taking in the son of Fett?” 

“Naberrie asked,” Cody replied simply, like that explained everything. 

Apparently it did, because the clones accepted this answer without any further question and turned their collective attention on him again. The wary disbelief seemed to have mostly dissipated, replaced with curiosity. “Huh. _The_ Boba Fett,” one of the clones huffed. “You’re alright, little brother.” 

Boba shrugged jerkily, clenching his teeth against his knee-jerk response. It would not be smart to insult every man here, not while he didn’t have a way to take off. To distract himself, he picked a blaster almost at random, then returned to his lane and fired off a few shots. All were ridiculously wild. 

A laugh sounded behind him, one of the clones stepping up to his side. “You might be Fett’s son, but I’ve met vatties who can aim better than that,” the clone chuckled, teasing instead of cruel. “Want some help?” 

“No thanks,” Boba replied, clipped. He fired off a couple more shots; they were better, but still off.

When they returned to the cabin, he sent Naberrie a comm, not sure he would answer but curious upon reflection of his conversation with the clones at the range. 

**_What’s the point you want me to make to Windu?_ **

_How to treat homesick younglings, and why he’s going to keep making the same mistakes he made with me, over and over again, unless he changes. And why that’s not ok, and he has to change, even if none of them can disassemble stars._

Boba felt his eyebrows go up. He turned to Cody. 

"Can Naberrie disassemble stars?" He asked. 

"Classified." Was the immediate response. 

Boba felt his jaw drop. If the answer was ‘no’, it wouldn’t have to be classified. "You're shitting me." 

"Ask him yourself," Cody encouraged, never looking up from his own datapadd.

**_Can you disassemble stars?_ **

_The Sith didn’t call their ships ‘Star Destroyers’ for nothing._

Implied: he knew where at least one Star Destroyer was, and he knew how to use it. Suddenly the Jedi Council’s decision not to try to kill him made a lot more sense. 

**_You’re shitting me._ **

_If it makes you happier to think so._

**_So sending me off with a clone helps how?_ **

_Sending you off with your brothers helps. Vode an._

**_They’re not my brothers._ **

The next day, he returned to the range, testing out three more blasters. Eventually, he settled on one, a simple Correllian model RB-63. It didn’t feel quite right, but it was better than the JXP. He practiced for several hours before Cody came to fetch him, insisting he work on his education modules for at least three hours a day. So Boba returned to the cabin, curling up on his bunk with his datapadd instead of joining the others at the fold-down table, who were all working on their schoolwork as well. 

He had kept up with the education modules in prison; not much to do most days, so it had helped keep him occupied. He was slightly ahead of his age group, assessments wise. Aside from the Arts. The current module was poetry, and he was awful at it. 

Cody chuckled, drawing his attention. “Skywalker made the same face when it came to the fine arts. Anytime Kenobi would mention an epic poem or opera or something, he would make that face. Like he just bit into an unripe Jokka fruit.” 

Boba frowned, the name he used not escaping his attention. “But not Naberrie?” 

“Naberrie recently spent a week talking to the Jedi Council in nothing but quotes from famous poems, just to make a point. Naberrie is not the person Skywalker was.” 

Boba had to concede that point, but it did give him an idea. He sent a comm to Naberrie. The answer was as prompt as could be expected. 

_Mando’a war chants are a kind of poetry. You’d be able to claim heritage credits as well._

Boba nodded to himself. It was a good answer, and the one he needed. Curious, he sent him another. 

**_How many of the chants do you know?_ **

_All of them._

Why was he not surprised.

So he wrote false war chants, and applied for heritage credits. They were approved within a few hours, to his mild surprise. 

The rest of the trip, the next three days, was spent split evenly between his modules and the range. Cody and his sons mostly let him be, even chatterbox Tal backing off after a few blank stares, and Boba was grateful, the pervasive friendliness that bordered on nosiness that nearly every other clone displayed every time he ventured into the mess or the range grating on his nerves after a while. 

The modules were easy, after he got the poetry credits figured out, and the blaster practice was relaxing, both allowing him to mull over what he had heard and learned over the past few days. 

Naberrie thought he was homesick. Thought being among the clones on their chosen homeworld would help. Obviously wanted him to learn something, if Kenobi’s word was anything to go by. He thought hard, then messaged Naberrie again.

**_Why this clone? Why Cody?_ **

_I actually asked the Nulls first. Cody was my second choice._

He frowned. Not what he asked, but he was surprised at the flash of hurt that knowledge sparked. 

**_Why?_ **

_Unfortunately, that was my screw-up. I waited too long. They went and adopted a batch together before I could ask, and you wouldn’t have gotten the attention you needed competing with ten eight-years. Prudii in particular was rather upset, apparently he especially has rather fond memories of you, but they weren't going to drop their new sons for you. Not that I blame them._

**_You know what I meant. You’re avoiding my question._ **

_Did I know?_

**_Of course you know. You’re Anakin Naberrie._ **

_Awfully big assumption for someone you haven’t met. Vode an._

Boba nearly threw his datapadd in frustration. He guessed he was just supposed to figure it out himself.


	3. Meet the Alverds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally make it to Cin Vehtin, and Boba meets the rest of the family! 
> 
> Mira is my OC, Gree is obviously cannon.

The ship dropped out of hyperspace above a gorgeous little world, mostly blue with patches of green/brown landmasses, icy white poles, and banded with white clouds. Cody had brought them into the mess to see it, the mess the only place other than the bridge with a big picture viewport. Boba had to admit it had made an impression. Cody pointed out a trio of massive inland seas that dominated one of the continents in the northern hemisphere, mentioning that was where the city of Aloriya was located, then a light brown desert region on a neighboring continent that straddled the equator, where apparently the Di’base settlement was located. Nothing was really visible from space yet, though. A few smaller battle cruisers, retrofitted as Judicial ships, orbited as well. 

They collected their duffels and boarded the oribit-to-surface shuttle with most of the clones they had been sharing living space with for the past few days. Shortly, the doors opened again, and he was in a busy spaceport. It was a bit nondescript, architecture wise, but open and efficiently laid out with a lot of natural light. 

Like on Coruscant, Cody took one of the boys’ hands while Arreru took the other, Cody leading them all through the spaceport and the immigration lines. It took longer than it usually should have to get through the lines, thanks to Boba’s status apparently, but Cody flashed some document and the officer reluctantly let them through. 

Once outside the spaceport, they boarded yet another transport, this one a direct shuttle to Di’base. It was a basic speederbus, so Boba got a good bird’s eye view of the city as they lifted off and began to move south-east. The space port was located toward the center of a fairly large island in one of those inland seas, and the entire island was now covered in buildings arranged in a staggered hexagonal grid. The island appeared to mostly be the spaceport and infrastructure to support the spaceport, the rest of the small city spilling over onto the neighboring islands. 

The settlement was quickly left behind, the speeder moving at a good clip, but even so they spent quite a while over dark blue water. After they finally left the seas behind, they still had a long way to go; they passed over forest and plains and a mountain range, forest turning to swampy jungle the closer they got to the coast. Boba eyed a herd of giant, hairy quadrupedal animals they passed, at least the size of rancors but with large facial tusks, with begrudging respect, wondering if they were aggressive. Curious, he asked. 

“We call them Turbo Wookies,” Arreru was the one to answer him, his slitted eyes tracking the slowly moving animals with predator stillness. “They’re big, fast when they want to be, and move in groups, but they aren’t aggressive unless you attack them first.”

“Taking one down has become one of the Battle Rite options,” Cody added. 

Boba raised an eyebrow. “Battle Rite?” 

Cody nodded, his uncovered face brightening. “While you can claim armor from sixteen, you can’t paint it until you’ve survived your first battle. But we’re not at war anymore, so we came up with the Battle Rites. Challenges that count as your first battle.” He shrugged. “A squad taking down an animal, either large or aggressive enough, is a popular option.”

Boba hummed noncommittally in reply. He spent the rest of the trip thinking about conflict and what counted as battle. 

The speeder traveled for the entire day and night, with no pit stops. Luckily, or more likely purposefully, there was a small ‘fresher in the back of the speeder and the seats could recline somewhat, so it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sometime during the night, they crossed over the ocean strait that separated the two landmasses, and suddenly instead of jungle, they were flying over desert. They finally arrived well into the morning of the next day, and by that point Boba was thoroughly sick of traveling. Di’base was set in a majestic canyon in the desert, a harsh slash of red-brown striated rock and sand in the planet’s surface as far as the eye could see, dotted with low, scraggly desert brush. Like Tor had said, the air was hot and dry, and the direct sunlight was oppressive. 

They stepped off the speederbus into a small, open plaza, teeming with sentients of all kinds. Boba jumped when Tal abruptly shouted "BU!" and darted forward into the crowd, Tor hot on his heels. For some reason, Cody and Arreru let them, not seeming perturbed at all at the two younglings putting distance between them despite their previously almost smothering protectiveness.

The reason turned out to be yet another clone, in armor much the same as Cody's, but with green patterns instead of orange, a single band of mourning gray on his left arm. Across his chest, he wore a black bandolier, and a blaster pistol on his right hip. On his shoulders was a toddler of indeterminate sex, with chubby pale green cheeks and a mop of black curls, his grip on their ankles apparently the only thing keeping them from falling off as they wiggled and shrieked inarticulate excitement from their perch. 

Tor and Tal collided with his hips in much the same way they had greeted Cody in the diner, the green colored clone releasing one of the toddler's ankles to ruffle first ones hair, than the others. Arreru approached more sedately, reaching up to take the toddler from the newcomer's shoulders and prop them on a popped hip with practiced ease. The child giggled when Cody came up to run a hand through their curls in greeting.

His hands now freed, the new clone first used them to hug both the boys, and once they peeled themselves off, cup the back of Arreru's neck, pulling him into a one-armed hug as well. Finally, all the younglings stepped aside, allowing the two adults to greet each other. Boba watched in faint bafflement as instead of the common arm-clasp he was expecting them to do, they reached for each other, both cupping a hand over the back of the other's neck, the foreheads of their buckets tapping together. 

It took him a minute to realize where he had seen that behavior before, and fought a flush of confused disgust when he realized they were [riduure](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). And he had thought simply being around copies of his Buir's face was going to be weird; now he was probably going to see them make out at some point. Fett clones were notorious for being affectionate, and he didn’t doubt Cody was the same.

Eventually, they parted, Cody taking the green toddler from Arreru and the two men staying close, their body language making it clear they were a unit. The orange-marked bucket turned toward him, Cody beckoning him forward from where he had hung back uncertainly with a little jerk of his bucket. Cautiously, Boba approached; while the toddler didn’t seem to care at all, the green-marked trooper seemed to cool as he got closer, going... reserved. Distrustful, even. Some might think it would be hard to discern any emotion through armor, but Mando’ade learned the tells from being raised among armored warriors from birth, and Boba was just as fluent as anyone else.

“ _Boba_ ,” Cody introduced him when he finally came within a polite distance, “ _This is my youngest child, Mira_ ,” he hefted the toddler- a girl, maybe, judging by the name- “ _And my husband, Gree._ ” 

Boba stared into the slitted black visor, which gave away nothing. Eventually, Gree gave a shallow nod in greeting, but did not speak, simply turning on his heel to take Tor and Tal’s hands and walk away into the crowd, Cody falling in behind him. The two younger boys easily allowed themselves to be led off, babbling excitedly about their trip to their other parent, but Arreru’s expression went a bit surprised, looking between Gree’s retreating back and Boba with blatant confusion, and he hesitated to follow Gree and Cody; apparently the Zygerian didn’t expect Gree to be cold. 

Boba scowled at him, hefting his bag onto his shoulder and marching after Cody. If that was how Gree wanted it, that was fine. He hadn’t expected anything else from the copies. 

The settlement was close-packed and busy, clones intermixed freely with a variety of other species, but mostly Twi’lek. In fact, the whole place had the feel of a Rylothi town, the architecture square and squat, materials blending nicely with the natural backdrop. Staircases and walkways were carved out of the cliff face, creeping up the sheer wall, allowing access to what might have initially been natural caves that had been expanded and turned into living and shop spaces, further entrenching the town in the setting. 

Gree led them through busy marketplaces and winding streets, to a nondescript building. Inside was a lobby-like room, with a bank of grav-lifts in the back; they piled into one of these. Boba startled when he felt them go down, however. 

“Most of the town is underground,” Arreru informed him, seeming much more relaxed than he had been the previous few days. Probably anticipating being in his own bed shortly. “Ground level is so hot, it’s easier to regulate temperatures underground. Only those of us that like the temperatures live aboveground.” 

Once they left the lift, it felt like they were back on the ship rather than in a town. Or maybe on Kamino. Straight, orderly hallways, sparse, clean lines, little to no decoration. Despite everything starting to look the same, Gree managed to lead them without hesitation to a door. He punched in a code, and the door opened on an apartment. 

The apartment almost looked Coruscanti, compact and efficient with no wasted space and storage anywhere it could be squeezed, the furniture sturdy looking and color coordinated with the rest of the room in earthy browns, reds, and oranges. The walls were a warm reddish-orange, the floors dark wood. Its lack of frivolous detail came off as elegant and refined, rather than the spartan effect of the main hallways. A kitchen was off to the left, with appliances in black, and to the right was a communal recreation space with several couches and chairs centered around a table with a holoprojector on it. A hallway branched off directly ahead with several doors on it. 

Tal gave a whoop, darting toward one of the doors, Tor hot on his heels. 

Cody chuckled, slipping off his bucket and setting Mira down, who immediately darted after Tor and Tal with a giggle. “Boba, you’ll be bunking with Arreru. Arreru, help Boba get settled?” 

Arreru led him down the hall to the second door on the right. “There’s the ‘fresher, that’s Tor and Tal’s room, that’s Mira’s room, and that’s [Buire](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) room. This is ours.” 

“What’s that?” 

“A closet.” 

“Ah.” 

Arreru’s ears perked as he stepped into the room. It was the same red walls and brown floors as the rest of the apartment, with a bunk bed shoved into the corner and a pair of lockers. One was placed right next to the bed, Arreru obviously using it at a kind of night stand judging from the stack of datapadds and other bric-a-brac on top of the locker within arm’s reach of the top bunk. The other was on the wall by the door, placed in such a way that the two lockers formed a small alcove between them in the corner that was filled with a soft-looking cushion chair. A desk with more padds, knick-nacks, and a data terminal sat at the end of the bunks facing the wall, a virtual window currently set to a forest scene placed right in front of it. A massive rug was spread on the floor, its color fading from purple to red to orange to pink to blue from one end to the next. By itself, it was nice, but it clashed with the rest of the room.

Arreru opened the locker by the door, revealing it to be empty, and made a little gesture to it before turning to unpack his own duffel into his locker by the bunks. 

It didn’t take him long to unpack his three sets of clothes and his handful of other possessions. The locker had armor locks, and he considered putting his Buir’s beskar’gam in them, but eventually decided against it, carefully packing it away in the large drawer at the foot of the locker instead. 

He sat on the bottom bunk, the top already occupied by Arreru. The bunk was completely unmade, not even a pillow. He was about to ask Arreru where he could get bed linens when Cody was in the door, tapping lightly on the wall. 

“Arreru, your appointment at the armorers is in ten minutes. We should head over.” 

Arreru nimbly jumped from his bunk, forgoing the ladder, the shy boy’s ears perked high and eyes bright with excitement. Boba had almost forgotten the conversation back on Coruscant about Arreru’s armor, but apparently he had been the only one. Cody smiled at him, the smile full of pride, then turned his gaze to Boba. 

“You come along, too. We’ll stop by the quartermaster, grab you everything you need.” He turned and left without even waiting for Boba’s response, Arreru on his heels. He had to jog to catch up. 

As they walked, Arreru pointed things out to him. “There’s the mess. The rec room. The youngling center. The blue line,” he pointed to their feet and Boba noted three colored lines on the floor, directional arrows in the same color every few feet. “Always leads to the nearest communal ‘fresher, the green to the mess, and the yellow to medical. Public spaces are always open.” 

They finally stopped at an open door that led to an open space. Most of it was taken up by work tables, only two people there currently; one a clone, the other a human woman with severely cropped hair, both touching up the paint on their armor. Neither spared them a glance. There was a rack of paints on the wall, a rainbow of colors. The back third of the room was a workshop with a massive printer, a variety of fabricator’s tools, and several racks of white plasteel armor, the space separated from the rest of the room by a low counter. 

A clone sitting behind the counter, with hair dyed a bright green and spiked up, complex tattoos on his arms, brightened as they approached. “Commander!” he greeted Cody warmly. Apparently he was one of the clones that favored pure Mando’a. Boba frowned a bit at the title, reminded, and made a mental note to look up Cody’s service record; maybe that would give him a hint as to why Naberrie sent him off with him. “You my 1000?” the tattooed clone asked. 

“Sure am, Green,” Cody returned warmly with a nod. “More specifically, my son.” 

Green’s eyes zeroed in on Arreru, a grin spreading over his face. “No kidding! The great Commander Cody’s son old enough to claim armor. Kriff, how time flies.” He shook his head. “I’m honored to help you with your armor, little brother.” He gestured for Arreru to come behind the counter, the Zygerian obediently rounding the counter. Green paused, seeming to just notice Boba hanging back. “You need armor too, little brother?” he asked kindly. 

He shook his head. “I’m just here to watch.” 

Green shrugged. “Fine by me.” 

So Boba watched as Green took Arreru’s measurements, happily discussing preferences and modifications with him. He started with the basic white plasteel armor worn by all clones, trimming then slowly melting and cooling the pieces in a painstaking process until they were perfectly sized to Arreru, the gaps between the plates larger than the other examples of clone armor Boba had seen to allow for greater range of motion. Arreru was small for a Zygerian, but he still had some growing to do, Green chuckling that he would be back in a few months for a refitting of at least his leg armor. Green had Arreru duck into a changing cubicle, the teenling emerging a few minutes later in a black thermal undersuit. They then had him pull on the armor, Green helping his inexperienced fingers on the locks and fastenings, and making tiny adjustments with small handheld trimmers and torches.

Finally, he was fully kitted up except for a bucket. Boba frowned a bit in distaste. Armor shouldn’t gleam. 

But Arreru appeared pleased with it, running his gloved and gauntleted hands over the chestplate with obvious satisfaction. “What about the helmet?” he asked, a bit of concern entering his eyes. Boba couldn’t help but agree; there was no way a clone trooper bucket would work with Zygerian ears. 

Green’s grin didn’t waver. “Your buir thought of that already,” he chuckled, going to a shelf and pulling down a bucket-sized crate. “He asked me to make this months ago. I think he was more excited than you for your armor.” 

He pulled a white bucket out of the crate, turning it around to show it to them. It was a weird mix of a Zygerian trader helmet and a clone trooper bucket- the earlier version that was straight-sided with a flared rim, not the more bulbous later version. Arreru took it from Green with slightly trembling hands. 

Cody’s hand on his shoulder made the boy jump and turn wide, vulnerable eyes to Cody. “Buir,” he breathed, a slight hitch to his voice. 

“It suits you, my son,” Cody murmured. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m proud.” 

Boba bit down on the inside of his cheek, fighting back tears. He hadn’t felt this lonely since Geonosis. 

“Now let’s get you some paint,” Cody announced. Arreru seemed surprised by this statement, to say nothing of Green, who looked like they wanted to clutch their pearls. Painting armor was a big deal for them, Boba realized.

“But Buir-”

Cody interrupted him. “I think the fire was more than enough of a Rite to earn your first paint,” he insisted. 

Arreru still hesitated. “But...”

“Just a little paint,” Cody offered in compromise. This Arreru agreed to, though he was still reluctant. He went to the paint rack, thinking for several minutes, before selecting a bottle and bringing it to one of the tables. He removed his gauntlets. Cody helped him clean and prepare the armor’s surface for paint, then load up an airbrush. 

Arreru’s hands were steady as he sprayed on paint, the same orange that decorated Cody’s armor. Something soft and wistful filled Cody’s eyes when he first saw the color, but he said nothing. Arreru filled in the backs of the gauntlets, solid color at the knuckles and fading out to mostly white at the wrist. The effect was subtle but striking once you noticed it. 

Arreru slid the gauntlets back on once they had dried, pulling on his bucket as well and going to a tall mirror in the corner to look himself over. Cody joined him, the older clone’s dinged and battered armor with its scarred paint making Arreru’s look even shinier by comparison. Cody still looked pleased. 

"Education and armor; self defense, clan; our language and our leader," Boba startled to hear Cody softly recite the Six, but neither father nor son spared him a glance. "Today, you have taken on the Second, and you are truly a Child of Mandalore." 

Arreru abruptly turned and hugged Cody, their armor crashing against each other. Cody merely hugged him back. 

Boba followed them to the quartermaster in a daze. A hundred details from the past few days vied for his attention, his thoughts whirling. He took bedclothes, toiletries, and a dozen sets of clothes on auto-pilot. He wasn’t even present enough to balk at the fact that the clothes were mostly blue cadet uniforms, though Arreru did throw a few sets of casual spacer-style clothes into his pile as well. 

By the time they returned to Cody’s apartment, where they were met by Tor and Tal, both of the younger clones cheering and making exclamations of envious awe at the sight of their older brother’s new armor, Boba had... well, not a conclusion, but some more questions for Naberrie. He sent him another comm.

The reply took longer than they had before, but considering they were no longer on the same planet and therefore their days didn't line up anymore, as well as the increased lag, Naberrie still replied as promptly as could be expected. In the meantime, he looked up Cody’s service record, and by the time Naberrie finally commed him back, he was begrudgingly impressed. He looked up Gree as well, and was somehow unsurprised to find he was a distinguished former Commander too.

**_They fancy themselves Mando’ade._ **

_Why aren’t they? If you follow the Resol’nare, you are a Mando._

**_You also have to be adopted in. No clan has claimed them._ **

_Ah, I had forgotten you wouldn’t have gotten the news on Coruscant._

_Kal Skirata went back to his clan after the Cuy’val Dar were dismissed, with his sons in tow. The clan rejected the Nulls and Omega squad. So Skirata started his own clan, and a House, and formally announced that any vode that wished to be counted as Mando was officially adopted into his House._

_It was all over the Mando’ade news cycles for months. Kryze tried to stop it, but you can imagine how that went. The Republic didn't care._

**_Cody took the offer?_ **

_He’s as much Mando’ade as you are._

Boba was still considering this when Arreru came to fetch him to the main living space. The furniture had all been pushed against the walls, leaving a large open area in the center that was now covered by springy green wrestling mats. Gree and Cody had both stripped down out of their armor into more casual clothes, Gree sitting cross-legged on one of the couches with Mira ensconced on his lap. Boba was somewhat surprised to find he had his hair cut in a pair of strips and either dyed it dark red or had some kind of mutation that turned his hair that color, Boba wasn't sure which, but honestly, it kind of made him feel better that Gree didn’t remind him as strongly of Buir as Cody did. 

The evening was spent practicing hand-to-hand. Tor and Tal would take a turn sparring, then Arreru and Boba, and so on, back and forth; the men watching and coaching them all. Occasionally Cody would halt the pair sparring to demonstrate something or correct some bit of execution, and Gree would toss out an observation but mostly seemed preoccupied with Mira. Arreru was a skilled opponent, Boba was surprised to find; quick and clever. But he hesitated before landing hits, never fully committing; Boba, who had never had the luxury of hesitation- not under his Buir’s tutelage, in the company of Sing, or in prison- did not, and that, combined with his larger mass, meant he won nearly every single time. Arreru made him work for it, though, and his regard for the other teenling had risen considerably by the time they were done. 

They paused when dinner arrived; wraps filled with rehydrated protein, vegetables, and spicy sauce delivered from the mess. Then they had one more spar each, and Cody led them through a cooldown exercise, something he called a kata, and when Boba fell into bed, exhausted, he had no troubles falling asleep. Thoughts on what made one Mando’ade followed him into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal Skirata: What up bitches I'm not dead yet! Also meet my multitude of offspring  
> Clan Skirata: WTF take them back they're weird  
> Kal: You're weird  
> Clan: No u  
> Kal: Well I'ma make my own House. With blackjack. And hookers!  
> Satine: *softly, in the background* Please don't  
> Kal: Did you hear something? Oh well, I'm sure it wasn't important
> 
> And that's how that happened. Tru Story.


	4. Learning the Clan

The next morning, he sent Naberrie another comm, then ate breakfast with Cody, Gree, and their younglings; instant wheat meal topped with canned fruit for flavor and kaf, though Tor, Tal, and Mira got muja juice instead. Boba was quickly realizing no one in the household was a cook, but that was fine. He had never really had someone who was in his life. It was still far better than prison food, at least. 

When they were done, Cody and Gree striding off in their armor and leaving them to their own devices, there was Naberrie's reply waiting for him. 

**_How can one be Mando’ade if they cannot fulfil the Sixth?_ **

_How can anyone fulfil the Sixth right now, Son of Fett?_

Boba frowned at the screen. 

**_You’re not seriously suggesting I become Mand’alor?_ **

_It is what your father would have wanted. And I told you the price for my teaching would be steep._

_I would understand if you decide to find a different path._

Boba didn’t reply, considering before he answered. He startled when a third message came in, realizing it was now nearly two hours later. 

_You don’t have to decide now, or even soon. You’re still sixteen. Grow into your armor first. In the meantime, discover your clan. Vode An._

He was still thinking when Arreru poked his head into their shared room, cautious optimism on his face as his hands worried his bucket. 

"Boba," he called, "We're going to go get lunch and then help in one of the youngling centers, me and the boys and Gree. Want to come?" 

If he had asked yesterday, Boba probably would have said no. He nearly said no anyway, but Naberrie's last message caught his eye. 

_Discover your clan._

Buir had always told him they were the last of their clan, the last of the True Mando'ade. What if that wasn’t really true?

Finally, he nodded slowly and turned his padd off. "Sure." 

  
  
  


It was surprisingly ok, actually. They ate lunch in the communal mess, then Gree, with a babbling Mira balanced on his hip, led them to a different level of the underground town, where they sought out an ancient, tiny, crone-like human woman, stooped with age and draped in shawls. She grinned at them, showing she had no teeth. 

"Welcome back, children," she greeted them in a creaking voice. 

"Thank you, Grandmother," Arreru replied for them, bending to press his forehead to hers. Tor and Tal copied him, Mira giggling as she was treated to the same, and even Gree submitted to it, though he was stiff. Boba stayed back, but the old woman came to him instead, her gnarled hand shooting out with shocking speed to snatch the front of his shirt and drag him down with a yelp, nearly causing him to fall over. 

"Rude," she grumbled, but there was teasing to her tone as she pressed their foreheads together, then released him. "All the new grandchildren start rude. Don't worry, young one, Grandmother will teach you manners." 

She released him and turned to shuffle serenely down the corridor, leaving Boba blinking in shock. Tor and Tal giggled, and even Gree snorted before falling in behind her.

Arreru chuckled as well, drifting to his side as they followed her. "That's Grandmother An," he explained in a murmur. "She runs the entire youngling program for Di'base. She considers everyone her grandchildren, and as you can see, she doesn't allow anyone to keep their distance."

Boba huffed, irritably straightening his shirt. Yet more space-invading nosy well-meaners. That was going to get old fast. Arreru just laughed again. 

Grandmother An brought them to what looked like an open play room, with higher ceilings than the hallways and a play structure at the center, already occupied by a group of twenty or so younglings about Tor and Tal’s ages and four adults. Half of the younglings were clone, but the other half were not, a variety of species represented, though they all looked undernourished. While the clone younglings were outgoing and settled, running around and playing rambunctiously, the other half of the group were much more reserved and hesitant. Almost like they were afraid to play, or didn’t know how. 

Gree drifted to a corner of the room obviously meant for a younger age group with Mira, settling her to play among some other babies while he talked with the other adults, who were also gathered in that corner. Arreru’s presence gentled, even in his armor, and something about him made the younglings flock to him, especially the non-clone ones. Shortly, the Zygerian was sitting on the floor in another corner that housed a mess of cushions and racks of simple books, one of the small ones curled on his lap, Tor and Tal flanking him. Without selecting a book, he began telling the gathered younglings a story, about a slave child taken in by a slaver family on accident. 

Arreru was a natural story teller, his rich voice weaving the tale with precise timing. Even his tendency to roll his resh’s added atmosphere rather than being distracting. Even Boba was becoming entranced as he listened from the edges of the group when he noticed Grandmother An shuffling up to his side. 

“You are much like the new rescues,” she observed quietly. “You keep distance. You’re cautious, uncertain. Where have you been, vod’ika?” 

Boba frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a vod.” 

“No?” her voice was archly curious. 

“No.” He refused to elaborate. 

After it became obvious he would say no more, Grandmother spoke again. “Well. Could have fooled me. Walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and insists he’s not a duck. Curious, curious. Or crazy!” She cackled at her own wit. Boba frowned at her, but she just shuffled off again. 

Shaking his head, he tuned back into the story. 

“Mo’sees looked back at the sandstorm when it fell back into place,” Arreru said, his tone solemn. “While the freed slaves celebrated, his brother and sister both embracing him in their joy, he looked back, and felt sorrow. He hoped his Depur brother was not caught in the sands with the rest of the Depur, but knew he could never return to know for sure. Even if his brother still lived, that chapter of his life was forever closed.” 

“Why was he sad?” one of the non-clone human younglings asked, her expression perplexed. “If he was a bad guy, a slaver, why wouldn’t he be glad to not see him anymore?” 

“Because that’s his brother,” one of the cadets piped up thoughtfully, shifting a tiny bit closer to the cadet he was already sitting knee-to-knee with. 

“No, A’aon is his brother,” one of the other younglings, a male Twi’lek, protested. “Tham’sees was Depur.” 

“Depur, [kamii'un](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html), are not incapable of love,” Arreru pointed out softly. “That’s why their crimes are so awful; they know the love of Ar-Amu in their hearts, same as us all, though they no longer know her name. Their love for their brothers is no less than our love for ours.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And being of the same mother is not the only way to be brothers. A’aon is Mo’sees’ brother, and Aiam his sister, but that does not make Tham’sees any less his brother.” 

He allowed the again quiet younglings a moment to process that, then finished the story. 

“Ekkereth guided them through the deep desert, to the Land of Flowing Water they had been promised, the Oasis of Ar-Amu’s Love, and Ar-Amu wept to have her children returned to her embrace, hope and faith returned to their hearts. Remember this, children; slaves may go unrescued a long time, but never forever. Those in bondage must never loose hope that we will be free. Will you remember?"

Boba frowned as the younglings made agreeing noises, most of them pressing their fingertips to their chests, then to their lips, in some ritualized gesture. Ekkereth. Ar-Amu. Where had he heard those names before? 

A memory, hazy and distant with age, floated to the forefront of his memory; of Buir, telling him a similar story with those same characters. Gods of the slaves, from Tattooine originally, but now common anywhere in Hutt space, he recalled Buir explaining to him. Buir had not believed in them, like all good Mando’ade he believed in [Manda](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) and the [ka’ra](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) and taught Boba the same, but he had told him the stories anyway. _“We must draw wisdom from many sources,” he told him softly. “Or it grows old and stale, my son. Besides, there is much work in Hutt space, and it is wise to know the ways of the slaves. They can help you in ways you don’t expect if only you can earn their trust.”_

Buir had been a slave, once. He hadn’t ever spoken of it, but the other [Cuy’val Dar](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cuy%27val_Dar) had told him. These stories were the slave younglings’ heritage; and the clone army had been little more than slaves. Some argued they _had_ been. And they had claimed these slave children as their own; did that make Ar-Amu and Ekkereth the clones’ heritage too, now? Were they Boba’s? If not through the clones, then through Buir? 

He stopped trying to figure it out when his head started to hurt. 

After the story, Tor and Tal started a game of tag, effortlessly coaxing the now obviously former slave children into the game now that they were relaxed by the story. The rest of the afternoon was spent watching and playing with the younglings, the adults slipping in and out in turns; possibly taking care of errands, Boba guessed. Or maybe just having a minute to themselves. It was surprisingly... fun, entertaining the younglings. Well, as long as he ignored Gree warily watching his every move. 

He startled to realize it was now evening when the adults began to round up their younglings to take them to dinner. Cody appeared about the same time, smiling fondly, his bucket being off and clipped to his belt allowing Boba to see his smile caused his scar to warp slightly. 

“Bu!” One of the boys, Tal he identified after a moment by his red colored bracelet, called in excitement, running over to him, Tor hot on his heels, to collide with Cody and cling to his waist. Cody caught them both with a grunt, chuckling. 

“Hello there,” he greeted them warmly, ruffling their short hair. “Did you make some new friends today?” 

“Uh-huh!” Tor answered first, and suddenly both he and Tal were competing to talk, babbling over each other as they gave Cody a blow-by-blow account of the afternoon. He flashed Gree a warm smile of greeting when he approached with a cranky Mira under his arm, the other red-haired clone returning it, their silent greeting never causing either younger clone pause as they began the walk back to their level and apartment, Arreru and Boba following along. 

After dinner, again picked up from the mess but eaten at the table in Cody’s little used kitchen, Boba messaged Naberrie again. 

**_I still want to talk to Windu._ **

_It will happen. But the Council will need to get over the Naar first, then decide to stop avoiding the war, and how much of it was really the Jedi’s collective fault._

**_ETA?_ **

_Well, it’s been years and they haven’t yet. If they haven’t gotten over themselves by the time the babies are walking, I’ll prod things along._

Typical. 

  
  
  


Most of a tenday passed in much the same fashion; Boba would wake, eat breakfast with Cody’s family, then spend the morning on education modules or at the public range. He still wasn’t technically allowed to have a blaster, but the clone manning the arms counter didn’t even blink, allowing him to check out whatever blaster he wanted. Boba decided not to question it and possibly ruin a good thing. Lunch would be had in one of the various messes- they were all identical, but there were several scattered throughout the levels. Then Arreru would drag him along to help with a random group of younglings or some other project for the afternoon. Apparently youngling-minding was what Gree, Mira and the cadets did most days. Gree seemed to be the primary youngling minder between him and Cody, and stars knew what Cody did all day. Boba might have guessed some kind of military occupation based on him wearing armor every day, but so did Gree and nearly every other adult in the whole damn place, so Boba quit trying to guess. 

Everyone helped with public projects here, community service seeming to be a cornerstone of their social structure. Boba guessed it was built as an outlet for the average clone’s apparent allergy to inactivity. Fifteen seemed to be the age you were expected to start pitching in, and Boba found himself mixing with a variety of teenling clones and ex-slaves alike, all contributing how they could, whether it was assisting some clone medics-turned-healers with a complete sterilizing scrub down of a medbay or pulling kitchen duty in one of the various messes or youngling minding or one of a hundred other tasks. In the evenings, they would return to the apartment for dinner and usually, but not always, a hand-to-hand training session, which Cody and Gree took turns leading. 

Immediately word spread about him. Boba could feel the stares, almost hear the whispers as he passed people in the corridors. At first it was just the older clones, like Gree; those who were old enough to have at least seen Jango Fett, if not trained under him, and therefore already knew of Boba and what he had done. But by the third day the younger clones were wary of him too, examining him intensely when they thought he wasn’t looking, and from them it spread to the liberated slaves by the fifth. It wasn’t entirely undeserved, he supposed; he knew his own notoriety. Didn’t mean it didn’t still rankle. It seemed like only Cody and Mira didn’t care, even Arreru sneaking him curious side-eyes on occasion, but then, Mira was three. Cody just seemed to have decided to pretend everything was normal, like he could will everyone around him into following his example. 

So Boba alternated flinching, trying his best to stay in Arreru’s shadow, and returning the stares with glares, bristling and snarling. It was still mostly ok in the youngling center, among the young ones in the creches who didn’t really care that much, but even there their minders stared too, so Boba took to trying to be invisible. 

From Arreru’s shadow, he watched them. He watched them laugh and fight, train and teach. Cody had been right about him sticking out without armor; nearly everyone wore armor, allegiances and histories written in bold colors. Arreru wore his nearly every day, like Cody and Gree did. In the youngling center, stories of Ar-Amu were told alongside tales of ancient Mando war-heroes and Mand’alors, the Resol’nare repeated as often as the apparently clone-originated saying “experience outranks everything” and snippets of slave wisdom. Mando’a entwined with Basic seamlessly, the two languages used nearly interchangeably. Everywhere, everyday, he saw older clones guide younger clones and ex slaves alike in learning their ways; regardless of kinship or even familiarity. Complete strangers regularly paused to assist, whether it was with carrying heavy loads or with a tantruming toddler or getting the paint on their armor just right. He heard ‘Vode An’ more times than he cared to count. 

Education, armor, self-defense, clan, language, leader. He saw evidence of them all, save the last. 

On the evening of the seventh day, after Arreru, Tor and Tal had went to bed and even Gree had disappeared with a cranky Mira in his arms to put her down, Boba sat down at the kitchen table across from Cody. The former commander was nursing a late-night mug of kaf and reading something on a datapadd, and didn't acknowledge Boba's presence. Boba briefly wondered what he was reading before asking shortly, “If Duchess Kryze asked for your assistance, would you go?” 

Cody quirked a brow, but didn’t look up. “Probably. She is a personal friend of my General and brother.” 

Boba frowned. Not a firm yes, but not a definite no, either. He leaned forward on his elbows, confrontational. “What about Pre Vizsla?” 

That made him look up with a frown. “What are you getting at, Boba?” he asked plainly. 

Boba decided to answer his plainess with his own. “If someone, worthy of the title Mand’alor, put out a call to arms, would you go?” 

“Ah.” The frown smoothed away, Cody setting aside his padd and sitting back in his chair as he gave Boba his full consideration. “I think I would.” 

Boba pressed. “What if they were calling to go against the Republic?” 

Cody’s lips pursed, and he considered for several long minutes before he answered. “My loyalty was to the Republic, once,” he acknowledged with a little nod. “But I am not their slave any longer. I would consider it.” He shrugged. “Academic, anyway. There is no Mand’alor. Kryze leads Mandalore, but she could never rally all the clans to her banner.” 

Boba hummed, sitting back and mulling over this answer. Still wasn’t a definite yes, but then, Buir had always said the mark of a true Mando’ade wasn’t armor or allit; it was choice. Mando’ade did not follow blindly, or without question. They made up their own minds, and lived with their choices. It was ultimately why he considered the copies inferior, with their flash-trained loyalty to the Republic. 

But here was Cody, distinguished in battle, who wore armor day in and out, spoke Mando’a like he had never spoken anything else, raising his children to be warriors, and stubbornly reserving the right to make up his own mind. _[Mandokarla](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html), _ he thought. 

Eventually, Boba nodded. If he was going to try this strange new-age clan, best to do it right. “I want armor.” 

Cody returned his nod. “I’ll make the appointment.” 

Despite the firmness he had declared his desire for it, Boba was startled, the argument that had been ready on his tongue completely derailed. “Really? You’d... you’d let me wear clone trooper armor? After... everything?” 

Cody chuckled. “At the end of the day, you’re clone too,” he pointed out, not unkindly. 

True enough, Boba acknowledged reluctantly. “But what about Gree? And the other clones that don’t like me because I’m Boba Fett?” he pressed. “Won’t they mind?” 

The commander shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not up to them, is it? It’s not like you’re dar’manda. Besides, even if you were, a man’s honor is his own business.” 

So the next afternoon, Cody accompanied him to the armorsmith’s. Green received him with the same enthusiasm as he had Arreru; either he didn’t care he was Boba Fett or hadn’t heard yet. Regardless, he kept up a cheery stream of chatter as he took Boba’s measurements and pulled a suit off the rack. 

Boba startled when he began to trim the pieces. “Shouldn’t it just... fit? You’re... _we’re_ all built the same, right?” 

Green laughed. “We all may be clones of the same man, but the armor is meant for adults. You’re still growing, vod’ika, and that’s never an exact process. Besides, the long-necks did engineer some of us to be a little different.” He tested the fit of an rerebrace to Boba’s upper arm, then pulled it back to trim just a little more. 

Finally, he handed Boba a set of thermals- what the clones called blacks. He took them and ducked into the small changing room. The thermals were light, and when he first pulled them on a little loose, but they tightened to hug his skin after a moment. They breathed and seemed to adjust to his body temperature, and despite feeling almost naked in the form-fitting suit, he had to admit they were amazingly comfortable. 

Green helped him don the armor, his fingers a little less clumsy than Arreru’s had been due to the few times he had helped Buir with his, but the locks were unfamiliar. When it was all on, he went to the mirror, looking himself over. 

He looked like a copy. Keeping eye contact with himself in the mirror, he slid the bucket on, hiding away his conflicted face; the sight of the faceplate hiding his face away only made the churning in his gut worse. 

What would Buir think?

Cody appeared over his shoulder in the mirror, his face creased with a thoughtful frown. Abruptly, he spoke. “I can show you the features if you want. Or Arreru can show you.” 

Boba swallowed, but gave a shallow nod. Cody returned it briskly, his expression smoothing over into professional seriousness, brusquely beginning to list features, lightly touching parts of Boba’s new armor as he mentioned them and coaching him through setting up the onboard HUD on the bucket. Boba half-listened, most of his attention suddenly taken up with a revelation. 

Cody was Mando’ade. Of this new age House, maybe, but Mando’ade all the same. His family was Mando’ade. Despite Buir, Boba had never really spent a lot of time around other Mando’ade; there was the Cuy’val Dar, and he met a few in passing when Buir had allowed him to tag along on jobs, but he had never really belonged to the Mando’ade at large. Buir had been just as dead to the Mando’ade as the rest of the Cuy’val Dar; and so Boba had been raised in a kind of gray area, practically dead himself, a ghost. Not dar’manda, but... disconnected.

Cody was a leader. A father. A teacher. More than Buir had ever expected any of his copies to be. And despite knowing exactly who and what Boba was, despite the obvious reluctance of his vode, he was, in his quiet, brusque way, inviting Boba in. 

Was this what Naberrie wanted him to do here? Why he had put Boba in the hands of Commander Cody, specifically? 

_Discover your clan._

Boba nodded vaguely to himself, resolve and direction steadying something in him that had been flailing and off-kilter since the judge declared him released from prison. Naberrie wanted him to learn the clone brotherhood his Buir spawned. Cody was offering to be his teacher. He would learn. 

  
  
  


Arreru smiled when he walked into the apartment just behind Cody in his new armor, the Zygerian appearing genuinely pleased for him. Boba hesitated, then cautiously removed his new bucket to return the smile with a small one of his own. It felt strange to smile again. 

Tor and Tal both regarded him curiously from Arreru’s sides, more reserved, their eyes sharp with wary observation. Boba resisted the urge to fidget under their stares. 

“Are you going to be our ori’vod?” Tor suddenly piped up, bluntly. Boba stared at him, not sure what to say. Much like Skywalker and ‘negotiate’, words like ‘ori’vod’ meant something different among the clones; he didn’t want to commit himself to something without understanding it. Especially if it might imply Cody and Gree were his buire now, which they weren’t. 

“Bu says you don’t know what that means,” Tal tacked on, almost gracious, for a ten-year. “Is that true?” 

Boba glanced to Cody, who was utterly impassive in his bucket. Next, Gree, who despite being barefaced, was equally impassive, pretending to be absorbed in cleaning off Mira’s face, which was currently covered in paint. No help from that sector, then. “I don’t think I do,” he eventually gritted out with a frustrated little huff, looking back to the cadets. “Not the way you mean.” 

The two cadets shared a weighty look for several moments. The tension stretched. 

Finally, they both nodded, some conclusion apparently reached, and turned their matching eyes back to him. “We can teach you,” Tal offered. 

Boba blinked, something in his gut that had been anticipating rejection relaxing. Maybe it wasn’t just Cody that Naberrie wanted to teach him? He nodded slowly in acceptance. The cadets grinned brightly. 

“Being ori’vod,” Arreru interjected, slow and thoughtful, his feline gaze catching and holding Boba’s, “Is twofold. The first, is ori’vod to all those younger, weaker than you among the Vode’ade, regardless if you know them or not. It’s your responsibility as part of the Vode’ade, an aspect of being a brother to all. The second, is ori’vod to your personal vode,” he reached out to sling an arm around each of the cadet’s shoulders, dragging them in to his sides with a grin, the two giggling and clinging to his forearms. “Teaching and guiding. Their protector.” 

“You can be _an_ ori’vod without being _our_ ori’vod, if you don’t want to be,” Tor added through his giggles, though something about his eyes went sober, serious, and Boba realized with a jolt they were giving him a choice. 

He considered the trio before him, offering him... His mind boggled at what they were offering him. “Can I think about it?” he eventually hedged, overwhelmed. 

Arreru nodded, understanding in his eyes. “It’s a lot, at first,” he empathized. “Take your time.” 

Boba’s shoulders relaxed. “Thanks.” A rough laugh slipped from his lips, his gloved hand coming up to run over the stubble of his hair with a wry smile. “I have a lot to learn.” 

“We’ll teach you,” Cody assured him. 

  
  


**_It doesn’t count if you outsource the teaching, you know._ **

_Funny. You’re the second person to tell me that._

_What I have to teach requires a groundwork only the Vode can lay. Cody will teach what I cannot._

**_Who was the first?_ **

_Ventress._

**_Of course it was._ **

_Vode An._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mandalorians believe in a kind of shared soul/heaven called the Manda, that they return to after death, not unlike the Jedi view death as rejoining the Force.  
> **The word ka'ra has two distinct meanings; literally stars, or figuratively the mythological council of dead Mand'alors. Ancient superstition had it that the Mand'alors did become stars, guiding the wandering Mando'ade from the Manda. In more recent times, this superstition drifted somewhat so that all the dead became stars. I headcannon that the Vode really latched onto this concept, finding a pleasing symmetry between the perceived similarities between themselves and the how stars tend to look the same to the average onlooker, but once you get closer stars are very individual, just like them.  
> ***Headcannon time: post the war, widespread adoption into the Mando'ade, and introduction to the Amavikka, the Vode took a look at the word "hut'uun" and the concept of "depur" and gave the Kaminoans a fitting memorial in their cultural psyche. 
> 
> EDIT: Ar-Amu, Ekkereth, and all references to the Amavikka belong to filarill, originating in their Agent Vader series if I remember right, but I haven't read that series so an honorable mention also goes to Blue_Sunshine for my education regarding the Amavikka, and their beautiful exploration of the culture in their Desert Storm series. The story Arreru is telling them is just the Prince of Egypt filtered through a Star Wars/Amavikka filter. Yeah, I'm lazy, so sue me.


	5. Unexpected News and a Camping Trip

The next morning, Boba frowned down at the comm that had just appeared in his mailbox, not comprehending what he was reading. Or more accurately, comprehending, but refusing to accept it. 

He stood from his bunk to look over the edge of the top bunk, transferring his frown to Arreru, who was reading his own ‘padd, probably the same or a similar message. 

“School?” he demanded, with a furrowed brow. 

Arreru quirked his own brow in a motion remarkably similar to Cody. “Yeah? We’re still minors, you know. Of course we have school.” 

Boba’s frown deepened. “I’ve never gone to school before,” he admitted in a mumble. 

Arreru shrugged. “It’s fine. We only have class in the mornings, it’s not like other planets like Coruscant where they keep you cooped up all day or something.” 

Boba made a noncommittal grunt and went to find Cody. 

“Why do I have to go to school?” he demanded. “Why can’t I just finish the Standard Education Modules?” 

“Because we teach more than the Standard Modules,” Cody replied calmly, never looking up from the morning news holostream he preferred to watch in the morning. The newscaster was going on about something in the useless Senate, so Boba had tuned it out, but Cody was watching intently over his kaf cup. Boba scowled at being brushed aside. 

“Well I’m not going,” he snapped. 

Cody quirked a brow, finally looking at him. “Yes, you are,” he replied simply. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Naberrie is requiring it. You’re going. If you don’t want to go, take it up with him,” Cody shrugged. 

Boba scowled. “What in the kark does Naberrie have to do with it?” he demanded. 

“Technically, he’s your legal guardian,” Cody informed him blithely. “According to your bail, I’m just your minder. Naberrie’s word is the final one.” 

Boba gave a frustrated huff and stormed back to his room, ignoring a kitting up Arreru for flopping down on his bunk. He was aware he was acting like a petulant youngling, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He furiously typed a message to Naberrie and sent it with a particularly vicious stab at the screen. 

“Uh, you coming to the center today, Boba?” Arreru asked cautiously. 

“No,” he snapped. Perhaps wisely, Arreru retreated without another word, leaving him to his brooding. 

While he waited for Naberrie’s response, he re-read the comm, scowling at the screen. According to the obviously automated message, he was now a student at Di’base Educational Facility, to report to Instructor Todd at 0730 the first day of the next tenday, or the day after tomorrow, for initial placement testing. A multi-page document was attached, that he discovered was a student regulations manual when he opened it. He skimmed the rules, pausing to roll his eyes occasionally. No weapons or armor allowed in class, honestly. 

Finally, Naberrie commed him back. 

**_I will learn the ways of this bastard clan, but I will not be subjected to something as pedestrian as public school._ **

_Really, Boba. You sound like you think you’re above bettering yourself. Even the Queen of Naboo has to complete school._

Boba glowered at the screen. That wasn’t why! 

**_I’m not above bettering myself. Just not this way._ **

_Why not? Give me a good reason and I will allow you to complete the SEMs instead._

Boba stopped short. Considered. Snarled when he couldn’t come up with anything he thought Naberrie would accept. ‘I don’t want to be subjected to staring idiots every day’ wouldn’t fly. In desperation, he threw out the best he could come up with. 

**_I won’t be flash-trained._ **

_They don’t flash-train younglings on Cin Vehtin. Have fun. Vode An._

This time, Boba did throw his datapadd. 

  
  
  


He wasn't allowed to brood long. It was just after lunchtime- which was spent brooding on the sofa in the communal room of Cody’s apartment instead of eating- when Tor and Tal crashed through the front door, giggling and excited, startling Boba out of his sulking thoughts. 

Tal noticed him first, and in his excitement, didn't heed the storm clouds hovering over Boba's head at all, changing his trajectory to rocket to Boba's side instead, Tor hot on his heels. They grabbed his hands, beginning to try to tug him to his feet. 

"C'm on, c'm on, Boba!" Tal exclaimed, nearly bursting out of his skin with eagerness. "We gotta get ready to go!" 

Boba felt his scowl deepen, like his own foul mood was trying to compensate for their bright mood, resisting both their attempts to draw him to his feet by slumping further and going deadweight. "What are you talking about?" He snapped. 

"Our camping trip," Arreru offered in explanation, drawing off his bucket as he entered the apartment, Cody right behind him. "At the end of rest week, right before we go back to school, Co'Buir takes us camping. Just a fun little father-son excursion, just us, before we all get caught up in the rush of school." 

"Tal 'n me get to go this time," Tor added, his eyes bright as he bounced on his heels. "Before just Co’Bu 'n Arreru got to go, we had to stay with Gre’Bu and Mira, but now we get to go too!"

"Well you're starting school too," Cody shrugged. "Of course you get to go now." 

"But we can't _go_ until everybody's ready, so let's _go,_ Boba!" Tal butted in impatiently, leaning back all his weight on his heels in an attempt to drag Boba up. Boba frowned at him, abruptly jerking his hand from Tal's grip and watching him fall back on his [shebs](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html) with a yelp. 

"Hey!" Tor burst on his brother's behalf, leveling a disapproving frown at Boba and dropping his other hand to go help his brother up instead. "That wasn't like a good ori'vod," he sniffed at Boba. 

Boba scowled, biting back a comment that maybe he was rethinking the whole brotherhood thing entirely. 

"Boys," Cody interrupted lightly before a real argument could break out. "Why don't you go get ready? Arreru will help Boba." 

The cadets both shot Boba a final, identical reproachful look, but obediently darted off. 

Boba turned his glare on Cody. "I suppose this is something else that isn't up for debate," he bit out. 

"Not really," Cody agreed blithely. "I'm legally responsible for you, can't leave you unattended overnight. Pack light," he instructed him lightly, but in the tone of someone used to having his orders and directives followed, and disappeared down the hall as well, leaving him and Arreru alone in awkward silence. 

The Zygerian teenling fidgeted, worrying his bucket in his hands and his bottom lip with his teeth. "Do you... Really not want to go?" He asked, cautiously. 

"Doesn't matter what I want, does it?" Boba snapped back, scowling as he got to his feet and stomped sulkily to the room he shared with Arreru, the other boy trailing behind him. 

"Of course it matters," Arreru piped up, soft but firm. "You're not a slave. If you really don't want to go, I'll talk to Co'Buir. I bet you could stay here with Gre'Buir and Mira instead." 

Ugh. Even worse; just him, the baby, and the clone that hated him. That would be a _fun_ evening. 

Boba shook his head shortly. “No. Where are we going?” 

“Not far,” Arreru shrugged. “Just a few miles out of Di’base. All we need are warmsuits and bedrolls, really. Oh, and a blaster, but we’ll get those from the armory on our way out.” 

“...warmsuit?” Boba gritted out the question, unhappy to even be asking. 

Arreru didn’t tease, though, simply nodding. “Yeah. It’s a specialized thermal, comes with active heat controls instead of the passive ones in normal blacks. It gets cold in the desert at night.” He pulled out his own set, showing the control on the inner forearm to Boba. “We got you a set at the quartermaster’s. Should be in your locker.” 

Boba looked, and sure enough, there was a set buried among the blue cadet uniforms. He scowled at them, reminded that he was going to have to wear one soon. He’d been cycling through the three sets of clothes he had that were not cadet uniforms or prison jumpsuits for most of the tenday, but the student manual had expressly stated the uniforms were mandatory. Following Arreru’s example, he quickly stripped and slipped on the warmsuit, once again feeling it constrict to provide a skin-tight fit. Experimentally, he fiddled with the controls on the arm, and immediately felt the suit warm up; the copies got decent equipment, he admitted begrudgingly, turning it back down to a comfortable level. 

Once they were both kitted up again, Arreru took him to the hall closet, passing him a tightly rolled bedroll from a stack of them on the shelf, as well as a canteen. “Your belt all stocked up?” he asked briskly. 

Boba nodded tightly. He had been initially surprised when he investigated the belt that came with the armor and found the pouches already stocked, but in retrospect it made sense. Easier to distribute that way. The pouches contained standard trooper kit; medpack, blaster cartridges, emergency kit, emergency rations, and one empty one that he supposed was meant for support supplies for a specialized trooper, like a datastick for a slicer or something. For now Boba’s was still empty. 

Tor and Tal met them in the hallway, giggling and excited, Boba’s rudeness to them earlier seemingly forgotten. Boba could see the high black neck of a warmsuit on each of them peeking above the collars of their shirts, the cadets wearing casual trouser/tunic/boots combinations in shades of tan instead of the blue uniforms they usually wore. They had also donned pouched belts similar to the ones worn with armor, and Boba had no doubt they were stocked similarly to his and Arreru’s. 

They eagerly took the bedroll and canteen offered to each of them by Arreru, then led the charge from the hallway to the common room. 

Gree had arrived while they were in their rooms, Mira hanging onto his shoulders, he and Cody talking judging by their body language, but apparently using a private comm channel to do so since Boba couldn’t hear them through their buckets. Both their heads turned towards them as they entered the room. 

“ _Ready_?” Cody asked, external comms. 

“ _So_ ready,” Tal gushed, once again bouncing restlessly. 

Cody gave a little nod. “ _Let’s go, then_.” He turned to Gree, cupping a hand over his neck and tapping their helmeted heads together affectionately, then tapped Mira’s nose, making the girl giggle. 

“ _K'oyacyi, boys_ ,” Gree bid them farewell with a little nod, his sons blurting quick ‘K'oyacyi’ in reply as they followed Cody out the door, Cody hefting a small pack he picked up in the entryway over his shoulder. Boba didn’t bother to reply; it was obvious the sentiment wasn’t meant for him. 

Cody led them to the armory, where Cody requisitioned three blasters; a DC-17 blaster pistol that he handed to Arreru, a DC-15 blaster rifle for himself, and a RB-63 that he handed to Boba. Boba gaped in surprise at it for a second before he took it and attached the holster to his belt. Partly he was surprised that Cody was still letting him have blasters (he had privately wondered if Cody was unaware of his blaster practice rather than condoning it); but mostly he was surprised that he had noticed and remembered Boba had settled for that one. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

Once they were armed, Cody led them above ground. It was just past noon, so above ground was sweltering; thankfully the blacks really did breathe very well, and the little sweat Boba managed to work up just walking was wicked away by the material. 

They rented three speederbikes, Cody strapping down his pack to the back of the one he would be riding and then lifting Tal to sit in the passenger’s seat of his. Arreru did the same with Tor, passing both the younger, unhelmeted boys goggles and helping them secure hoods over their heads to protect them from the sun. 

“ _You know how to drive one of these, Boba?_ ” Cody asked him through the helmet’s comm. Direct channel, so just the two of them.

He nodded jerkily. “ _Like riding a cyc_.” Hopefully. 

They set off northeast, Cody leading with Arreru and Boba flanking. Slowly, red-brown-orange striated rock walls fell away as they climbed out of the canyon, emerging into flat scrubland. They drove the speederbikes for about an hour, Cody leading the way, eventually coming upon a dry riverbed with a gnarled, low, dun-colored tree beside the bank. 

It was there they finally parked the bikes, circling them in a rough semi-circle under the tree’s scant shade. Tor and Tal were up and off the bikes almost before they fully stopped, shaking the dust from the trip off and still brimming with excited energy. 

“Bu, can we go look for lothmice?” Tal eagerly blurted, rounding Cody’s knee to look up into his visor. 

Cody’s bucket ticked to the side, curiously. “ _Do you both have your comms up and connected?_ ” he asked archly. 

“Uh-huh,” Tal nodded, Tor doing the same from his shoulder, the two lifting their arms to display a matching pair of wrist-comms. 

Cody checked them over, before nodding in approval. “ _Stay within a klik, and watch out for predators_ ,” he instructed them firmly, both cadets nodding along. “ _While you’re exploring, look for water-plants, and mark their coordinates when you find them. Both of you make sure to drink plenty and don’t overexert yourselves, your Gre’Buir would kill me if either of you got heat stroke._ ” 

The two were moving off at a run nearly before Cody finished speaking, tossing quick affirmatives over their shoulders as they darted off, skidding down the dry riverbank and dashing off along the path made by the riverbed, babbling excitedly to each other. 

Cody chuckled and shook his head, the sound coming to Boba over the internal comms. “ _Alright, boys. Let’s set up camp_.” He dismounted his speederbike, fetching the small pack he had brought as well as his and Tal’s bedrolls, then... going to the tree?

Boba watched in surprise as Cody casually climbed the tree with one hand, scaling the trunk to disappear among the dully colored leaves. 

Arreru laughed, apparently at Boba, shaking his bucketed head and grabbing Tor's and his own bedroll to follow his buir up the tree. As expected of a Zygerian, he climbed nimbly and effortlessly, like he was made to do it- which, coincidentally, he was- and even quicker than Cody disappeared among the foliage. “ _Come on, Boba!_ ” sounded in his ear, Arreru’s voice made flat by the sound compression. 

Shaking himself, Boba grabbed his own gear and approached the tree warily. The tree’s trunk was straight, without any branches until a few meeters up, but the bark was gnarled and deeply grooved, providing natural hand and toe holds. There didn’t seem to be any premarked way up. Not trusting himself to be able to do it one-handed on an unfamiliar surface, Boba attached the carry handle of his roll to his belt, then cautiously followed. He wasn’t a natural climber like Arreru or as practiced as Cody, but he managed to haul himself up gracefully enough, though he quickly wished he had a jetpack like on Buir’s armor. 

Boba emerged onto a platform made of rough-hewn wood planks, startled to find himself in a small bower formed by the platform and a canopy of branches that he could tell, while natural and growing, could be retracted like a sunroof or awning, the whole thing cleverly blended into the naturally dense, almost prickly boughs of the tree and invisible from the outside. The hole in the platform he had emerged through was off on an edge of the platform, in the center a lifted, shallow brass bowl smudged with chalky gray ash. Cody and Arreru were already busily tidying up the bower, prepping the campsite. Arreru was sweeping away fallen leaves and sand, while Cody started to set up the firebowl with dry leaves and thin sticks. Neither had removed their buckets yet, so Boba kept his on too. 

Cody barely glanced at him before resuming his task, emptying out his pack to reveal it held nothing more than a rugged, dented looking camp kafpot and some equally battered mugs. “ _Boba, once you’ve picked your spot and laid out your bedroll, you and Arreru will go set the traps, ok? Gather firewood while you’re at it._ ” 

Boba huffed but nodded petulantly, still irritated he had been forced to come and picking a spot as far away from the rest of the bedrolls as he could get in the cramped space. 

“ _You’ll get cold over there, away from the fire_ ,” Arreru commented softly. 

“ _That’s what the warmsuit’s for,_ ” Boba snapped back. Arreru fell silent. Cody made no comment. 

Once the campsite was settled, Arreru jerked his head, indicating Boba should follow, and slipped down the hole, descending as effortlessly as he had ascended. Boba followed, feeling clumsy compared to the Zygerian. 

They spent several hours wandering, seemingly aimlessly, Arreru showing him the water-plants and how to tap them for water to refill his canteen, and how to make a couple of different snares that they set for the jumping marsupial prey animals that burrowed among the scrub bushes (and apparently made good eating), and the tracks of several different kinds of animals. He pulled out his datapadd (Boba felt a brief flash of irritation that Arreru hadn't bothered to mention he could bring his), showing Boba the holosites on the local holo-net that provided more in-depth detail about the flora and fauna of the dessert, as well as another that hosted several topographical maps. 

By the time the day was waning, the sun dipping low enough that the oppressive heat was easing finally, they headed back to the campsite, a string of caught animals on Arreru’s shoulder, already gutted, skinned and cleaned, ready for the fire, and a bundle of firewood on Boba’s. 

As they approached, Boba was able to tell the difference in the tree now, Cody having retracted the canopy while they were gone, exposing the bower to the world, his white and orange armor standing out among the dun foliage. They climbed up, Cody offering them a brief but fond, “ _[Su’cuy](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). How were the traps? _” 

“ _Lively,_ ” Arreru reported, offering his string of animal flesh to Cody, who accepted them with a nod and immediately began to spit them. Boba looked around. 

With the canopy pulled back, there was only a waist-high wall of branches shielding the platform from direct buffeting from the wind, the rest of the treetop bower open to the world, like a nest. The tree was actually one of the tallest things for several kliks in any direction, allowing Boba an unfettered 360-degree view of the desert plain around them. The currently dry riverbed snaked away in a meandering path, off to his left was a lilac mountain range, hazy with distance, and back the direction they came, he could almost imagine he could see the canyon of Di'base in the mirage of the horizon. It was actually quite... pretty, especially in the light of late afternoon.

“ _Boba._ ” He jumped at the call of his name, Arreru directing him to set the firewood down near the firepit, which he did with an irritated grumble that he kept in his helmet then immediately went to his bedroll, flopping own on it with all the natural petulance of teenlings the galaxy over. Arreru watched him do so, inscrutable behind his faceplate. Boba ignored him. 

Shaking his head, Arreru looked around, his stance alert and searching. “ _The boys still out?_ ” 

“ _Yep. They’ve been checking in every so often, I’m not worried_ ,” Cody shrugged. Arreru nodded in reply, sitting down near his buir and pulling out a spare reel of carabineer filament, which he began to knot and twist in a pattern, of all things. The two began to talk about nothing in particular, open channel so anyone wanting to listen could. Boba tuned them out, staring up at the sky and stewing. 

“ _Kaf, Boba?_ ” 

“ _No thanks,_ ” he bit back. 

“ _Suit yourself._ ” He was able to track Arreru by sound as he stood, crossing to the firebowl and started a flame, assembling a pot of kaf to heat. He continued talking to Cody, and Boba tuned them both out again, staring at the empty blue sky. 

Or maybe not so empty. 

Boba’s eyes locked on a faint outline slowly swooping in a wide circle, squinting as he tried to make out what it was. A bird of some kind? It drifted lower, and Boba frowned; that... was starting to look like an awfully big bird. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he called, and the other two went quiet. “ _How big do birds get around here?_ ” 

“ _They can get pretty big,_ ” Cody answered. “ _Nothing too massive, maybe a meeter at most. Why?”_

Boba pointed up. “ _How big do you think that one is?_ ” 

“ _Buir!_ ” Arreru gasped, and the note of panic in his voice made Boba startle, looking at the other two to find them both on their feet now, gazes locked skyward. Cody had pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars, clearly tracking the thing, but Arreru stared up unassisted. “ _Buir, the boys-”_

 _“I know.”_ Cody’s voice was calm and steady, obviously trying to be soothing, but the fact that he didn’t find Arreru’s fear unwarranted was as concerning as if he had screamed like a little girl. Boba quickly got to his feet as well, automatically going for the blaster on his hip. “ _You two get eyes on the boys,_ ” Cody ordered shortly, his eyes never leaving the sky as he blindly traded macros for his blaster rifle. Arreru nodded tightly, swiftly moving to the side and beginning to scan the ground. Boba followed his cue, looking over the edge of the other half. 

“ _There_ ,” he called, and Arreru was at his side in a heartbeat, following the line of his finger. Tor and Tal were about a klik out, messing about in the riverbed still. 

“ _Confirmed,”_ Arreru called, his voice tight with carefully controlled fear, every line of his body tense as he glanced between the cadets and the sky. “ _The skydiver has line of sight on them.”_

 _“Good eyes,”_ Cody replied, then went to the inner channels. “ _Boys!”_

In the distance, Tor and Tall both stilled, one of them raising their wrist-comm to answer, their voice filtering over the comms. _“Yeah, Bu?”_

 _“Sit down a minute and hold still,”_ he ordered them almost casually, not a hint there was anything wrong in his voice even as he obviously tracked the whatever it was in the sky with the barrel of his rifle. 

“ _Huh? But Bu-”_ they started to protest, but Cody cut them off sternly. 

“ _No back-talk, cadet, hold!”_

Both small forms obediently plopped down, going still. For several tense, long minutes, there was silence, every one holding still, save Cody, who still carefully and smoothly tracked the circular movement above. 

Abruptly, the shape dropped, diving, Cody’s rifle continuing to track its descent even when it became obvious it was not aiming for the cadets like Cody and Arreru both feared. Boba watched in awed fascination as it streaked down, sunlight glinting off its sleek form making it look like lightning. Mid-air, it turned, changing orientation to present clawed feet, and slammed into the form of some kind of deer that had been grazing on the scrub bushes not far off, knocking it to the ground. Boba blanched. 

Angular wings spread wide, wickedly curved claws flexing to bury deep in the thrashing animal. It was too far away to hear the creature’s bellows, but Boba could tell it was bellowing in animal fear. Cold reptilian eyes swept over the landscape around it, long snout dropping open to display rows of sharp teeth. It was covered in scales, the ones on its back all black, but its belly and the underside of its wings obviously reflective, now glittering in the tawny shades of the ground around it. It dwarfed the deer, maybe twice its size. 

Boba had stood near one of those deers, while he and Arreru were wandering around. They weren’t small, their shoulders reaching Boba’s waist. Suddenly Arreru and Cody’s alarm made sickening sense; one of the cadets would have been the perfect size for this... thing. 

The scaled creature bit down on the deer’s spine, making it spasm and finally fall still. With a flap of great wings that caused a dust cloud, it lifted off, carrying its prize away. Finally, Cody lowered his rifle as it retreated into the distance, his stiff shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “ _Alright, you can carry on boys.”_

The cadets bounced back to their feet, continuing their game, but it was obvious they saw what had happened to the deer, their movements more cautious, both of them glancing at the sky warily every so often. They didn’t bother to ask for an explanation. 

Boba turned back to the interior of the campsite, holstering his blaster automatically. He met Cody’s gaze- or at least, it seemed like it, the Commander’s bucket pointed at him. Cody nodded solemnly to him. “ _Good eyes, Boba. I owe you a debt.”_

Boba shrugged stiffly. “ _It’s fine_.” 

“ _I do too,_ ” Arreru chipped in, relief in his voice and lightly landing a fist on Boba’s shoulder in friendly camaraderie. “ _Thanks._ ” 

Boba huffed, slumping down to sit on his bedroll again. He couldn’t stop his eyes flicking suspiciously to the sky every so often. “ _What happened to ‘just a fun little excursion’?_ ” he asked sarcastically. 

_“Danger is unavoidable in life, I would have thought you knew that already, Boba,”_ Cody replied, crouching down to fill two mugs with the now ready kaf, one of which he handed to Arreru. The Zygerian took it with a quick but genuine “[Vor’e](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html)”, setting aside his knotting project- which was starting to look like a net of some kind- and popping off his bucket to sip at the mug. Cody did the same, and despite the previous minutes, looked calm and placid as his face was revealed, sipping leisurely at the kaf. 

“ _What was that?_ ” Boba finally asked, keeping his own bucket on. 

“Skydiver,” Cody replied. “Large reptilian carnivore. Very adept at hunting through a dive-bombing technique, as you saw. They tend to be attracted to movement.” 

That explained why he had the cadets just stay still instead of trying to hide or return to the camp, at least. Boba frowned. “ _Why didn’t you shoot it?_ ” 

Cody shrugged. “Unlike some other vode, I don’t find pleasure in killing for sport. It redirected from my children, that’s all I wanted.” 

“ _Hm. Thought that was a ‘Battle Rite’, killing an animal?_ ” 

Cody leveled a flat look at him. “I hardly need to prove myself, Boba Fett.” 

Boba paused, then nodded slightly, conceding the point. 

Tor and Tal eventually returned as the shadows started to grow long with evening, their heads popping up through the entry hole together, grinning and dusty. Tal lifted a container above his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Cody beat him to the punch without even looking at him, his tone broking no argument. “The lothmice stay on the ground.” 

Tal’s face fell into a pout, the cadet sulkily lowering himself down again, taking the cage with him. Tor snickered and called “told you” after him quietly before pulling himself up and dropping to sit next to Cody by the firebowl. “What’s dinner, Bu?” 

“Roasted tubers and wild bounders,” Cody replied, removing a set of tuber skewers from the rack he had set up over the open flame and replacing them with some meat ones. Dusting his hands off, he turned to Tor and pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug against his side, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Have fun?” he asked. 

Tor nodded, immediately launching into a detailed account of his and his brother’s adventure in the riverbed. Tal joined them after a moment, the container and any lothmice it might have held missing. Cody hugged and kissed him too, even as he immediately joined Tor in regaling Cody with the tales of the afternoon. 

Finally, Tal addressed the Wookie in the room. “I’ve never seen a skydiver before, Bu.” 

Cody nodded. “They’re big, huh?” 

Both cadets nodded, their eyes going solemn and a bit frightened. “The crecheminders told us about them in the youngling center,” Tor offered. “Said they were big, but...” 

Cody smirked with grim humor. “It’s not quite the same as seeing it in person, is it?” The cadets shook their heads in confirmation, and he gave his own head a slight shake. “Now you know why I say you have to always be observant, right? Big skydiver might carry you away and eat you if you’re not careful.” His tone was simultaneously teasing and dead serious, and it was disconcerting to listen to. Cody’s hand ruffled their hair fondly. “Don’t worry. Your Gre’Bu and I are going to teach you how to take down things even bigger than that, and soon you’ll have nothing to fear from those skydivers. In the meantime, we’ve got you covered.” 

The two cadets considered this, and seemed to find comfort in it, any lingering tension seeping out of them. Tor asked curiously, “Do Krayt Dragons look like skydivers, Bu?” 

Cody quirked an eyebrow, surprised, but shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen a Krayt Dragon. I think they’re extinct, actually.” He chuckled when both boys deflated, disappointed. “We’ll look up some holos when we get back, alright?” 

Satisfied with this answer, they turned their attention to Arreru, whose knotting project had officially become a rather large net, longer than it was wide. 

“What’s that, ori’vod?” Tal asked, shifting to sit next to Arreru. The Zygerian flashed him a small, welcoming smile and shifted his hands to better display his work in the waning light. 

“You can use carabiner filament to make rather useful nets,” he explained. “Good for fishing, or carrying stuff, or laying traps, or...” he quickly tied off the apparently finished net, then stood and moved to the partially drawn awning, quickly hanging the net from the two short ends using the remainder of the filament. Once it was secure, the Zygerian flopped gracefully into it like it was a bench, leaning back and sending it gently rocking with a kick to the floor, then shooting his younger brothers a smug grin. “...A hammock,” he finished. 

“Oooh!” the cadets chorused, impressed, darting over to clamber up to sit in their ori’vod’s hammock, giggling at the sway. The branch it was suspended from bowed under their combined weight, the hammock dipping perilously close to the wood deck, but the net-hammock held. 

“Boys,” Cody called, amusement in his voice, “Dinner’s ready.” 

They ate the roasted meat and tubers directly off the skewers, gathered around the firebowl, the brothers laughing and teasing each other as they ate. Both Cody and Arreru laughed at the cadets when they daringly tried straight kaf, the two younglings deciding after only one bitter sip to stick to water. Boba remained silent and pretended he didn’t feel jealous of their easy camaraderie. After dinner, Arreru produced some more filament reels, giving one to each of his younger brothers and demonstrating a simplified version of the knotting pattern he had done to produce the net for the cadets to practice by the firelight. 

Finally, long after dark had fallen and Boba activated the heaters of his warmsuit- Arreru hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the surface got cold at night- Cody banked the fire. “Ok, boys. Lights out, we’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I’ll take first watch; Arreru, I’ll wake you in a few hours.” 

They grumbled in assent, Tor and Tal finding their bedrolls, while Arreru relocated his to his hammock and curled up there in full armor. Boba frowned, slightly insulted. “I can take a watch, too,” he grumbled.

Cody paused, his now bucketed head tilting a bit in consideration before nodding. “ _Alright. You have last watch. Arreru will wake you for your turn. That means you’re in charge of gathering breakfast, though.”_

Boba nodded, a bit surprised at Cody’s easy acceptance of his offer and the satisfaction that spread through his chest, but lay down on his own bedroll, staring up at the dark sky for a minute before closing his eyes and trying to catch some sleep while Cody climbed up to a slightly higher perch in the tree with his blaster rifle and settled in.

Boba scowled when one of the cadets broke the nocturnal quiet. “I can’t sleep, Bu,” he whined. 

“Me either,” the other one chimed in. “Can we have a story?” Boba opened his mouth to tell them off for being stupid and to go to sleep, but Cody cut him off. 

“ _Look_ ,” Cody entreated them softly from his perch, bucket tilted back towards the sky. Obediently, the four boys did, Tor and Tal gasping audibly. 

The stars spangled the deep velvet sky, seeming more numerous and brighter now that the fire was dim, the warm glow no longer washing out their night vision; even the moon provided no competition, having set about an hour ago, leaving the stars the only thing in the sky. There was no light pollution here, and the sky was perfectly clear, the wide open plain of the desert scrubland allowing the sky to stretch in an unbroken bowl over them. The stars twinkled in unfamiliar constellations, and Boba had to admit they were beautiful. 

“ _Those are the ka’ra_ ,” Cody said softly, and Boba looked sharply at him, immediately catching that he meant the honored dead, not stars. Cody didn’t seem to pay him any mind, though, continuing to stare up and speak in a hushed voice. “ _When we go marching far away, scouting ahead to clear the way for our brothers, it’s among the ka’ra we march. And no matter where we are in the galaxy, they watch over us._ ” 

“I thought we went to the Manda?” one of the cadets asked softly. 

Cody chuckled. “ _The ka’ra are the Manda. They are like... the holes between this world and that one, where we slip in when we march and they peer out._ ” 

Silence stretched, all of them contemplating the stars above. Suddenly Boba wondered who was in Cody’s litany. He must have an extensive one, being who he was. 

“Who’s up there, Bu?” one of the cadets asked. Boba started to hear his own thoughts from their lips. 

Cody didn’t answer for a long moment, and Boba had given up on hearing his answer when he spoke. “ _Too many to name in one night,_ ” he murmured softly, and Boba frowned to hear the grief in his voice. 

“Tell us a story about one of them?” Arreru asked softly. 

Cody pasused, maybe considering, before beginning to speak again. “ _When I was a cadet, not much younger than you two,” he began, almost trance-like, “My squad was five men strong.._.” 

Boba half-listened to Cody speak about a training mission that almost went terribly wrong, contemplating the ka’ra and the Manda. His eyes alighted on a star; a random one, perhaps, but he stared at it, like if he stared long enough, he might see Buir staring back from where he had marched, until he finally slipped into a thankfully dreamless sleep. 

  
  
  


Boba was woken by Arreru's light touch to his shoulder in the dark of pre-dawn, the two of them switching places without a word. He climbed to the sentry post while Arreru flopped back into his hammock, and if Boba wasn't mistaken, immediately went to sleep. 

Watch was boring, which was the best thing for it to be. The sky started to lighten long before the sun actually rose, and remembering Cody's instructions from the night before, Boba slipped out of the camp to check the various traps he and Arreru had left overnight and forage for breakfast like Arreru had shown him the previous day. Breakfast turned out to be some bird eggs from a ground-roosting bird, and a small motley variety of carbohydrate-heavy tubers and other vegetables. He kept a close watch as he moved, but he needn’t have bothered; the desert was peaceful, if lively, this time of day. 

The sun was just cresting the horizon when he returned, a string of gutted, cleaned bounders over his shoulder- less professionally done than Arreru’s, but still edible- and a pack of other foodstuffs on his other shoulder. He was unsurprised to find Cody had risen while he was gone, coaxing the coals of the fire back to life. Still in silence, they worked together to skewer the tubers and vegetables and get them roasting, Cody also starting the kafpot. The bounders were set aside, presumably to be used for lunch instead. He surprised Boba when he casually removed one of his shoulder pauldrons, using the bowl-like piece of armor to scramble the eggs. Boba knew armor could be used like that, an ancient camping trick from the time when the Mando’ade were wanderers more than anything, but he hadn’t ever expected to see one of the copies do it. 

“Don’t try this with your armor,” Cody broke the silence, not looking up from the fire. Boba bristled immediately, reflexively, but before he could say anything, Cody continued. “Our armor comes off the rack with fire-resistance, but just enough to possibly preserve the life inside. Even a small fire like this would ruin it, cause it to warp and blacken.” He shifted, portioning out the now finished eggs five ways into the camp mugs. “I’ve had mine heat-treated, specially for this purpose. If you want, we can get yours done too, but for now don’t.” 

Well that was... frustratingly reasonable. Boba settled with a grunt, accepting one of the mugs and a skewer. The scent of kaf roused Arreru next, the Zygerian teenling slinking his way to the fire’s side still half-asleep, judging by the fact that he tried to drink his eggs and then pouted at the rude discovery that the mug did not contain what he wanted, making Cody chuckle. Boba couldn't quite suppress his own snort of amusement, despite himself. 

Tor and Tal weren't far behind, Tal stumbling sleepily while Tor was already bright and alert, humming happily at a skewer of roasted tubers and vegetables. They ate in companionable silence, and when they were done, both Tal and Arreru had finally stirred to full wakefulness. Like the previous afternoon, Tor and Tal scampered off to explore and play, playfully jostling each other, and after the remnants of breakfast were cleaned up, Arreru dragged Boba along to do another round of the traps. This time, after checking a trap, Arreru showed him how to safely disarm and disassemble them when you were done. He also didn’t skin or clean the dead animals, merely gathering them up. 

When they were done, they returned to the tree-camp, though didn’t ascend, instead lingering at the bank of the riverbed. Arreru commed his brothers. “ _Boys?_ ” 

“ _Yeah, ori’vod?_ ” came the answer immediately. 

“ _Come back to camp, I’ve got something to show you._ ”

“ _Kay._ ” 

In a few moments, the pair were approaching at a lope, skidding to a stop in front of Boba and Arreru. They beamed sunnily up at their elder brother. “What’s up?” one of them, Boba wasn’t sure which, inquired. 

Arreru swung the line of three bounders from his shoulder, showing them to the boys, who both leaned back, their smiles suddenly dropping. “ _It’s time you learned to prep an animal for the fire_ ,” Arreru announced, either not noticing or- more likely- not acknowledging their discomfort. 

The cadets exchanged nervous glances, but obediently crouched when Arreru did, watching attentively as Arreru took one of the bounders and began to walk them through the basics of gutting, skinning, and cleaning an animal. Tal went pale when Arreru slit the belly open, scooping the guts out dispassionately, the chatterbox for once seeming to have nothing to say. 

When Arreru was finished, rinsing his hands in a bit of clean water from his canteen, Tor finally spoke. “Ori’vod, what’s the difference between us eating bounders and skydivers eating us?” 

Arreru didn’t pause in washing his hands, but he took a moment to answer. “ _In truth? There isn’t one_.” 

Both cadets startled, upset looks stealing onto their faces. “But... so skydivers eating us is bad, but us eating bounders is fine, and there’s no difference?” Tor exclaimed, sounding frustrated by his confusion. 

Arreru cocked his head to the side. “ _Yes_.” 

“Why?” Tal whispered, the first word he had said since the demonstration began. 

Arreru sighed, slipping off his bucket to face his vod’ike properly. “Boys. Skydivers are not bad.” 

That clearly gave them pause. Clearly they had thought they were, and Boba couldn’t help but agree with them a little. Skydivers were clearly a danger, at least. 

Arreru continued patiently. “The skydivers need to eat, same as every other living thing. To take your sustenance from something weaker than yourself is the natural order. It’s cruel, yeah, and not something to take lightly, but nature doesn’t go out of its way to be kind.” He shrugged. “The skydivers taking one of you would be unacceptable because you’re my [aliit](http://mandoa.org/dictionary.html). Because you’re younglings that can’t fight back effectively yet. Not because the skydiver hunting is wrong.” He gestured to the dead bounders between them. “Just like us hunting the bounders isn’t wrong. It might not be fair, but it’s not wrong.” 

For a long moment, there was quiet as they all mulled over Arreru’s words. 

Finally, Tal spoke softly, still pale and a little green. “I don’t think I can clean a bounder, ori’vod.” 

“You can,” Arreru answered him, gentle and kind. “Maybe not right now, but you will find there is a lot you might think you could never do, but you could, if you have to. When there is only what must be, you will surprise even yourself.” Boba blinked at Arreru, hearing the depth of experience in his voice. There was a story there, and suddenly he was burningly curious. Arreru didn’t even acknowledge him, though. “But today you don’t have to, Tal.” He offered the vibro-blade handle to Tor. “Here. Give it a try.” 

Tor swallowed, but took the blade. Arreru handed him one of the remaining bounders, and then gave the last to Boba, who took it out of surprise more than anything else. Arreru gave him a pointed look, then went to crouch right next to Tor. “Ok, Tor. Boba’s going to do one too, so just follow along with him.” 

Boba frowned. “ _I didn’t ask to be part of this_ ,” he protested mildly. 

Arreru shot him another look, this one lightly exasperated. “You asked us to teach you to be ori’vod. Teaching is part of that.” He waved a hand. “Go on.” 

Boba rolled his eyes but pulled out his own vibro-blade. 

Shortly, both bounders were cleaned, looking more or less like Arreru’s. The Zygerian nodded approval, showing them how to bury the offal so that predators wouldn’t be attracted to the campsite and leading them all back up the tree, where Cody was waiting, though hadn’t been idle, the bounders Boba had caught that morning in the process of being turned into quick jerky. He accepted the bounders Tor handed to him proudly with a smile and a quick “Good work,” Tal getting over himself enough to at least help Cody spit and start roasting the bounders. 

While waiting for lunch to cook, Cody pulled out, of all things, a deck of Sabacc cards from one of the pouches on his belt, and began to shuffle. “Who’s up for a game?” he questioned rhetorically. 

“Me!” Tor burst, dragging Tal over to their buir’s side and plopping down cross-legged next to him, Arreru taking the seat on Cody’s other side. 

Cody looked at Boba with a raised eyebrow when he didn’t move from his bedroll. “You don’t want to play?” 

Boba scowled inside his bucket. “ _No_.” 

Cody shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he replied easily, and began to explain the cards to Tor and Tal. Boba couldn’t help but listen and pay attention, though he tried to pretend he wasn’t; he had never played Sabacc before. He didn’t even know the rules. Seemed smart to at least listen and pick up the rules, it was a common game.

Finally, lunch was ready, and they once again ate skewers of roasted meat and tubers. When they were done, Cody orchestrated the breakdown of the campsite, and just as the sun was reaching its zenith, they were back on the speeders, headed back to Di’Base. Boba wasn’t quite sure when he started to miss the karking place, but he was surprised to be anxious to get back. Probably just missed sleeping in a bed and food that wasn’t wild game, he rationalized. And air conditioning. 

Regardless, he felt himself relax when they all trooped into Cody’s apartment, Gree greeting them warmly from the couch. 

“Su’cuy,” Gree called, a small smile on his face and chuckling when Mira gave a babbling greeting of her own. “How was your trip?” 

“It was so cool!” Tor burst, darting over to his parent with Tal hot on his heels, the two beginning their usual verbal contest to inform him of the whole 24 hours they were gone. 

Arreru shot Gree a casual little wave and then immediately headed for the ‘fresher. “I call first shower!” he announced to the room in general, disappearing into the refresher before anyone could contradict him. Boba huffed and rolled his eyes, face settling into something that definitely was not a pout. He had wanted first shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update for you, because it's Friday and I'm feeling generous! 
> 
> A quick word on Mando'a parent titles; while 'Buir' is often translated as either 'father' or 'mother', it technically just means 'parent', and when there is a need or desire to identify a particular parent for some reason, the most common way to do so is to slap the first syllable of the parent's name on as a prefix- see Co'Buir, Gree'Buir, or Kal'Buir. 'Bu' is a babyish version of 'Buir', roughly equivalent to 'Daddy' or 'Mommy'. 
> 
> PS This is the point I have written up to, from here the updates will be... slow.
> 
> EDIT: Originally the remainder of the camping trip was going to be like a whole other chapter, but I finished writing it and there turned out to be less than I thought there was going to be, so I decided to just tack it on to this chapter. So now instead of a normal length chapter and one short one, you get one big long chapter! Hope you enjoy.


	6. School Daze

Thanks to the trip, Boba slept like the dead, too tired to lay awake anxiously obsessing over what would surely happen the next day. He vaguely wondered if that was the actual point of the trips; to distract younglings and teenlings from first-day jitters and trick them into a good night’s sleep. If so, he had to admit it was an effective tactic. 

Boba dragged his feet through getting ready, putting off donning the blue uniform as long as he could, but eventually he emerged, fidgeting uncomfortably with the sleeves and collar of the tunic as he sat down to breakfast. He ate little, and when he only replied to questions with grunts, the others let him be. 

All too soon, Arreru was standing, grabbing his satchel from where he had hung it from the back of his chair and shoving a last piece of toast into his mouth. "Time to go, come on boys," he announced around his mouthful. Tor and Tal both rose and grabbed their own bags, bouncy with excitement, fidgeting restlessly when Cody stopped them with an extended hand, setting down his padd to adjust their tunics to sit properly, smoothing out invisible wrinkles and checking their wrist-comms with a practiced hand and fond smile. 

“Ky’oyaci,” he bid them lightly, dropping a kiss onto the tops of their heads, then Arreru’s when the elder approached him and bent obligingly. “Look out for each other.” Mira babbled something approaching ‘ky’oyaci’, but wasn’t quite yet. Boba grimaced, but reluctantly followed their lead and stood, swinging the small satchel he had been given at the quartermaster’s over his own shoulder. 

To Boba’s surprise, Gree accompanied them to the lift in his green-painted armor, leaving Mira with Cody, and exited at the same level as them, bidding each of his sons a similar fond farewell before disappearing into the crowd. Apparently he had just been on rest week, too, Boba realized with bemusement. 

This entire level, the first one just under ground level, was evidently the Di’base Educational Facility. While the lift opened only directly onto a small landing chamber, the chamber itself connected to a wide plaza-like space with several hallways branching off of it, the domed ceiling and walls painted and lit with recessed lighting to look like a sunny outdoor courtyard, with groupings of tables and a fountain at the center, teaming with youths between the ages of ten and twenty in the same blue uniform they all were wearing. Boba was mildly surprised to find it wasn’t just copies, either; there was easily two non-clone humans or aliens for every copy. He hadn’t quite realized the intermixing he had observed in the creche and among the other teenlings he and Arreru had worked beside the past tenday extended to the formal education system too. 

Arreru weaved his way skillfully through the crowd, Tor in one hand and Tal in the other, returning the occasional call of “su’cuy” but not stopping to talk to anyone. Tor and Tal were dropped off into a gaggle of similarly aged cadets being watched over by a hawk-like human in unpainted clone armor, and then Arreru was leading him down one of the halls. They stopped at an open door that framed a bit of a classroom with several cadets of varying ages, mostly non-clones, all of them looking vaguely unsettled as they murmured quietly among themselves. 

“This is Placement,” Arreru advised him. “Don’t be nervous, everyone else there is new, too. [Ret](http://mandoa.org/)’!” and then he was gone, and Boba was on his own. 

Boba cautiously made his way into the room, slinking to a seat in the back of the room and slumping down, grumbling to himself as he realised he had been escorted like a youngling. One of the copies raised an eyebrow and started to approach him, but quickly backed off when Boba shot him a withering glare. 

At precisely 0730, an adult copy, roughly the same age as Cody and Gree if Boba wasn’t mistaken, with the same haircut as Cody and dressed in the ubiquitous white armor- his bearing sunny yellow designs with bright orange details and highlights- marched into the room, placing his bucket down on the small table at the front of the room then turning to face them in the position of at-ease. Mutated hazel eyes swept over them, his gaze alone commanding the cadets’ attention and causing quiet to fall. 

“Greetings,” he called, voice confident and authoritative, and in Basic. It was a bit of a shock to the system after hearing primarily Mando’a the past tenday. “I am Instructor Todd. I will be conducting your initial placement process and orientation. I know most of you are completely new to the Vode’ade Educational System, so please be assured, if you have a question, ask. There are no reprimands here for questions, even stupid ones. We are all here to help you, so let us know if you need help. Questions?” 

Silence. 

Instructor Todd nodded sharply, picking up a datapadd from the table and beginning to flick the screen rapidly. “Good. I will be sending out a test now; please complete it on your own to the best of your ability, and then we will discuss optional training.” 

Boba’s ‘padd pinged, and he pulled it out of his satchel, opening up the document that had just been mass-transferred to everyone and beginning to fill it out. 

The test covered the basic required subjects- math, Arubesh reading comprehension, basic science, history, and civics- as well as, to Boba’s amusement, Mando’a comprehension. When he finished and submitted it, it only took a few moments for the automated system to regurgitate a list of classes, complete with time slots and locations. He frowned at the schedule; despite having two sessions for each of the five classes he had been assigned every tenday, as well as two additional daily courses, and only having time blocks in the mornings like Arreru had said, that still left quite a few gaping holes in his schedule. 

When the last person was done, Instructor Todd spoke again. “Alright. You all should have your basic schedules now; those are your required courses, what the Republic and Cin Vehtin requires you to learn to be considered educated. Those are automatically assigned every quarter, but you can test out of them if you wish. The rest of the slots,” he paused to activate a holoscreen on the wall, displaying an extensive list, “Are up to you to fill or leave empty as you see fit. These are just some of the options; I’m pinging a complete list to your ‘padds now.” 

Boba felt his eyebrows raise as he scrolled through. The copies certainly believed in variety. There were courses being offered on advanced chemistry, literature, several different disciplines of poetry, blaster maintenance, field medicine, Republic law... Advanced Sabacc Theory? He snorted to himself. There were several courses marked ‘limited time’, whatever that meant, and even more that were obviously introductions to various apprenticeships. The list went on and on. 

Instructor Todd continued. “As you can see, there are several choices, and as long as you meet all the prerequisites, all are open to you. Most quarters, you will be expected to make your selections before the beginning of the quarter, but as you are all new you are allowed two days, today and tomorrow, to go through the list, weigh your options, and make your selections. If you have any questions about any of the courses, again, questions are welcome and we have several Instructors dedicated to assisting you with this. Also don’t forget you have plenty of vode that would be happy to give advice and assist you. Questions?” 

The hand of a skinny-looking blonde human boy- not clone, maybe thirteen- slowly went up. Instructor Todd turned to him, acknowledging him with a small nod. “Yes, cadet?” 

The cadet stood when addressed, and his voice was soft. “Um, you... you said this is all optional. Right? Sir?” 

Instructor Todd nodded. “That’s correct, cadet.” 

Emboldened, the kid added, “So if we want we don’t have to do anything but what’s already been assigned?” 

Again, Instructor Todd nodded. “Also correct. If you wish to utilize the time not already filled in a private pursuit, self-guided study, sport, or other recreation, that is completely your choice. You are also free to request reassignment to different time slots to rearrange your schedule as you see fit, though please bear in mind those requests may be denied due to availability.” 

The boy nodded, mumbling, “Thank you, sir,” and sitting back down, a thoughtful frown on his face. Part of Boba was tempted to follow the kid’s suggestion and simply choose nothing, but... his eyes strayed back to the list again, particularly the entries labeled ‘War Theory’ and ‘Jetpack Training’. 

Instructor Todd swept his gaze over the room again. “Any other questions?” 

Another cadet stood, this one a green skinned male Twi’lek with broad shoulders and a deep scowl. “What is this ‘Resol’nare’ course we’ve all been assigned?” 

Instructor Todd raised an eyebrow at the confrontational question, but gamely answered. “That course is a requirement of the Cin Vehtin Educational Standards. All of you are now Vode’ade, Children of the Brotherhood. The Resol’nare, along with a few other guiding principles that are also taught in that course, detail what being Vode’ade means, as well as the responsibilities and privileges thereof.” 

The Twi’lek’s scowl deepened. “I don’t want to be Mandalorian. I don’t want to fight and hurt people.” 

“No one will ask you to,” Instructor Todd soothed with a little shrug. “Being Vode’ade and being Mando’ade, while there is a lot of overlap, are not mutually inclusive. While wearing armor and bearing arms is encouraged, it’s _not_ a requirement. We will teach you to fight. But there are many ways to fight, and only some require bloodshed. Understand?” 

The Twi’lek’s scowl didn’t lessen, but he did give a sharp nod and sit back down. Instructor Todd returned the nod and glanced around the room again with a raised eyebrow, wordlessly checking for any other questions. When no one spoke up, he launched into the next part of his presentation. Briefly, he went over the student regulations manual, then provided them all with a holo-map of the school that he also went over with them, and finally, he showed them the school holo-site, where all general communications and school news would be shared, as well as hosting links to a variety of holonet resources. Mostly self-study courses, it looked like. 

Finally, Instructor Todd wrapped it up. “Remember, vod’ike, we’re all brothers here. If you need help, at any point, reach out. Someone will be there.” He paused, letting the statement sink in, then asked, “Final questions?” When none were forthcoming, he nodded, shutting off the holoscreen. “Dismissed, all. Good luck and watch out for each other.” 

Boba rolled his eyes at the sentiment but stood and filed out with everyone else. He consulted his chrono and his schedule; he was supposed to be at gym four in about five minutes for... physical training, apparently. He grimaced at the thought. Briefly, he considered just skipping, going to the blaster range instead, but scowled when he realized Cody would undoubtedly be informed of his absence and probably feel the need to try and corral him some more. Probably end up assigning Tor and Tal to follow him around like annoying, chattering little herding-hounds. 

With a sigh of resignation, Boba headed toward gym four. 

Physical training was somehow better and worse than Boba expected. Better because there were plenty of Vode’ade there, keeping it from being too obvious that he was lacking in the muscle and endurance enhancements every other Fett clone got but he didn't, and worse because Instructor Haz definitely noticed and held him to the same standard anyway. Boba consoled himself and his bruised pride with the twin observations that he also did the same for the Vode’ade, several other non-clone teenlings in the same age bracket as himself ending up sprawled on the mats beside him, panting just as hard, and even the copies were winded and shaky by the end, though they managed to keep their feet. 

After that was a maths course, which was... not quite a breeze, but not unreasonably hard either. Almost perfectly matched to his current level. The auto assignment system was very well designed, he admitted to himself. 

For the moment, the next two hour-long slots in his schedule were empty, so he decided to go to the school blaster range. Naturally, the school had its own, and perhaps just as naturally, it was busy. A class of about fifteen cadets around Tor and Tal’s age were there with three instructors, the instructors guiding them in taking what looked like their first blaster lesson, and nearly all the rest of the stalls were already occupied by a variety of other cadets as well, both clone and not. He almost started to retreat, when he caught and scowled at himself. He was not [hut’uunla](http://mandoa.org/), he was Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett, and he had every right to go where he wanted, copies be damned. He wasn’t ashamed- or scared.

So he marched up to the blaster-check, checked out an RB-63 from the bored looking copy at the desk, and spent the next two hours losing himself in the steady zen of target practice, pretending he didn’t hear the whispers. 

Noon, and his final class of the day, the course simply called 'Resol'nare', came surprisingly quick. Boba wasn't sure why he was enrolled in the course, he knew the Six before he knew his own name practically like any good Mando'ade, but he figured he could simply test out of it. He just had to talk to whoever the instructor was and test out. 

He arrived in room A-113 a little earlier than the listed start time, hoping to have the whole thing done and dusted before the class started. He walked into a round room with dim, warm lighting, domed ceiling and a circular recess in the floor that formed both a shallow pit and a kind of ring bench with a discreet holoprojector set into the floor at the center. It wasn't a terribly large room, in fact it felt rather cozy, but that wasn't what brought him up short; it was the wall. The wall was a massive, continuous mural, depicting all sorts of figures and scenes all flowing together, but mostly clones in glorified battle, looking like Mando war-heroes. Beautifully rendered, but Boba dismissed it as soon as he registered the subject matter. 

"You lost, vod'ika?"

Boba turned to the speaker, a human woman with long, braided blonde hair and soft gray eyes, dressed in a loose gray flightsuit, sitting beside an older copy with a shaved head in a similar jumpsuit. Absently, Boba noticed one of his eyes was cloudy. Both of them were looking at him in confusion. 

Boba huffed, rolling his eyes. “I wish.” He pulled out his padd, opening up his schedule again. “I’m scheduled for this course, but I already know the Six. Todd said I could test out of any course I didn’t need. How do I do that?” 

The pair exchanged a look, and the copy spoke this time. “This isn’t a graded course. We don’t have a test.” 

Boba frowned. “Then how do I get out?” 

The woman hummed thoughtfully. “What did you say your name was, vod’ika?” 

“I didn’t,” he scowled, “But it’s Boba Fett.” 

Confusion melted away from their faces to be replaced with understanding and amused smiles. “Right,” the woman acknowledged. “You definitely need to be here. Have a seat.” 

Boba felt his scowl deepen. “I already know the Resol’nare. I don’t need to be here.” 

She snorted. “That’s just a placeholder name. Sit.” 

Reluctantly, he sat. 

When the hourly tone sounded, he had been joined by twenty or so other cadets that trickled in in ones and twos, most of which he recognized from the placement class; all non-clones, with two adult non-clones as well, neither in a uniform or armor but looking nervous. In fact, he and the male instructor were the only Fett faces in the room. It was weird after being surrounded by them all day. 

They all took seats on the ring bench, shifting and exchanging nervous looks, just as confused as he was. Boba hunched and glared at anyone that tried to sit too close or talk to him. 

Finally, the female instructor whistled a low note, catching everyone’s attention. The soft chatter died away almost immediately, and all eyes went to her. She smiled. 

“Su’cuy, vod’ike,” she greeted them warmly. “My name is Hay’l Vrah, and this is my husband, Nine Vrah. We will be your Instructors for this course.” Her gaze swept over them, inviting questions; when there were none, she continued. “Who here knows what being Vode’ade means?” 

There was silence, cadets exchanging uncertain glances. 

“It means...” 

Vrah turned to the cadet that had piped up, smiling encouragingly at the small human girl, maybe twelve. “Go on,” she encouraged gently. 

Emboldened, she finished softly, fingers twisting nervously in her tunic hem, “It means ori’vode are gonna take care of us. Like they our moms ‘n dads.” 

Vrah’s smile widened. “That’s true. Vode take care of each other. But do you know what else it means?” 

Silence again. 

This time, she continued herself, gesturing expansively to the wall around them. “It means, vod’ike,” she informed them like it was an amazing secret, “That you are now part of a proud people, with a glorious history that is now yours as well.” 

Boba felt his frown deepen, and bit his tongue against his knee-jerk reaction. Vrah continued without seeming to notice, activating the holoproj with a small remote, bathing the dim room in electric blue shadows. He felt his stomach drop. 

A static image of Buir stood there, in full beskar’gam, arms folded in that way that he often stood, looking collected and imposing. Vrah spoke, still in that hushed, myth-telling voice. 

“The Vode are descended from this man, the Original. Jango Fett,” she revealed. "It was he who donated the genetic material that was used to create our aliit. It was he who trained the Alphas, and the first ARCs, who are the best warriors of us all. And it was he who taught us the way of the Mando'ade, how to fight and be strong." 

There was silence for a moment, the gathered cadets absorbing that. Finally, one of them dared to raise a hand. Vrah acknowledged them with a nod. 

"How could he have taught so many?" The human boy asked softly, his pale eyes wide with wonder and bafflement. 

Vrah laughed gently, her eyes and tone going gentle. "He didn't do it alone. To help him train, he gathered 100 of the best fighters he could find, the Cuy’val Dar. They were his Sargents, and their lessons, too, guide us today. We learn their lessons through our ori’vode, and one day, you will teach the vod’ike that come after you." 

The broad-shouldered scowling Twi’lek from earlier made an annoyed sound, nearly snapping, “Instructor Todd said we don’t have to be Mando if we don’t want to.” 

Vrah nodded indulgently. “That’s true. Not all of the Cuy’val Dar were Mando, because the Original knew mandokarla was found in all races and cultures, even if it was not called that. And their wisdom lives on in our teachings too. But you don’t have to swear to the Resol’nare to benefit from its wisdom.” She chuckled, glancing fondly at her husband. “That’s the beauty of the Vode; while we do not truly belong to any one culture, that also allows us to take and choose from others as we wish. I am Vode’ade; but I am also Amavikka.” 

The cadets around him startled at the word, and suddenly Boba was frowning in confusion rather than just shock. Vrah chuckled at their reactions and continued. 

“Here the sacred names and stories are safe, just like in any slave quarter. There are no depur or kami’uun here, vod’ika. Elsewhere, where there may be spies and danger, they are still not to be spoken of, but here in our home, they are safe. _We_ are safe.” She made a gesture then, touching her fingertips to her chest, then her smiling lips, a gesture most of them copied, including her husband. “My heart is still Ar-Amu’s heart. My face is still Ekkereth’s face. But my strength is the Original’s strength, passed on to me through my [aliit](http://mandoa.org/). And so it can be for you, if you wish. Whatever you choose, you are ours and we are yours, and this history is a part of you now. Vode, an. Brothers, all.” 

“Where is the Original?” one of the adults asked, her care-worn face filled with an unexpected childlike wonder. “The war was not so long ago.” 

Vrah’s husband spoke this time, his voice soft and casual, like his words didn't gut Boba with the reminder. “The Original died in the first battle, Geonosis I. Nearly seven years ago, now.” 

Another beat of silence, then: “Was the Original like Ar-Amu? Did he love us?” the tiny girl that had dared to try to answer Vrah’s initial question piped up. Boba felt his fist clench and his stomach drop, suddenly irrationally terrified of the answer she might give. 

For the first time, Vrah’s smile faltered a little as she shook her head no. “No, vod’ika. The Original did not love the army he spawned. They were not his children. They were his legacy, but not his aliit.” She exchanged a look with her husband, tinged with sadness, then brightened. “No, [verd’ika](http://mandoa.org/), the Original was more like Lukka. He was fair, and wise, and venerable, but ruthless. Necessary, but not kind. We honor him, but he was not our buir. Same for the Cuy’val Dar.” 

Boba swallowed thickly, gaze dropping to his clenched fists in his lap. Emotions at her answer welled up in his throat, choking; anger and bitterness and relief and... and... he didn’t know what he felt. All he knew was he needed to get out of there. 

Abruptly, he stood, snatching up his satchel and stalking out of the room, just barely able to hear the surprised calls of his name after him over the roaring of blood in his ears but ignoring them entirely. He blindly stormed down the halls, not sure where he was going but not caring either. He just needed to get _away_. 

He found himself at the big central courtyard again, less teaming than it had been earlier in the day but still lively with groups of students engaged in various activities. He paused, scanning the crowd uncertainly, and was unexpectedly relieved when he spotted Arreru by the central fountain, frowning at a datapadd. 

Boba started across the courtyard, but didn’t even make it a dozen paces before a challenge was bellowed out. 

“Hey, ain’t you Boba Fett?” 

Boba paused and turned a scowl on the speaker, who turned out to be a copy a few years older than himself with a buzzed head and a mean grin, flanked by two other copies. Boba turned to face him squarely, crossing his arms over his chest and sneering at them. “I am. What of it?” 

The one in the lead sneered right back, lifting his chin challengingly. “You sure don’t look like the son of the Original. I would have thought you’d be... tougher looking.” 

Boba felt his scowl deepen, and suddenly the anger in the simmering ball of emotions in his chest burst into prominence. How dare this mere _copy_ challenge him? 

Without a word, Boba lept at him with a snarl of rage. 

He got in two good hits before he was pulled off, the copy too shocked to hit back, the entire courtyard now in an uproar. Boba struggled against the arms that held him, snarling and spitting, while the copy holding him grunted at his more violent movements and gritted out words into his ear. 

“[Kuur](http://mandoa.org/), vod’ika, kurr- kriff! Calm down!” 

“Boba!” Arreru’s voice caught his attention, and he focused sharply on the Zygerian, who looked confused and concerned as he pushed out of the crowd that had gathered to rush up. “Boba, what-?” 

“Kriffin’ copy was asking for it!” Boba spit, vaguely aware of a few of the copies, including the one holding him, going much colder at his words, but he didn’t care. 

“OFFICER ON DECK!” 

The shout caused the hubbub to die away almost immediately, only the older copies actually snapping to attention but everyone at least going still and quiet. The arms around him dropped, and Boba twisted away from the copy, snarling. 

An armored adult copy stood there, blue designs on his armor, bucket off and tucked under his arm to show striped sideburns and a deep frown. Shortly, he snapped, “Follow me, cadets.” 

Boba considered for a moment refusing, but decided after a moment it wasn’t worth it. Reluctantly, he followed the armored adult to what appeared to be just an empty classroom, the adult copy setting his bucket down and crossing his arms sternly as he faced them both. 

His stern eyes flicked between the copy and Boba, eyebrow raising slowly as he took in the copy’s freely bleeding nose. Finally, his eyes met Boba’s and he said shortly, “Report, cadet.” 

Boba felt his scowl deepen. “My name is Boba. Not _cadet_.” He spit the title. 

The copy’s other eyebrow raised, but he gave a shallow nod and corrected, though the tone remained an order, “Report, Cadet Boba.” 

Boba made an aggravated sigh, but obligingly reported, “He insulted me. It warranted a response. I responded.” 

His eyes flicked to the cadet, but he directed his next question to Boba again. “Elaborate. How did he insult you?” 

Boba grit his teeth, but answered. What was with all the questions? Just punish him already. “He implied I was undeserving of my Buir’s name.” 

Abruptly the copy’s expression went thunderous, and Boba couldn’t help but feel a bit vindicated. At least the copies did understand the depth of that insult. He nodded sharply, and then turned his gaze to the other copy, who seemed to have the bleeding mostly under control now but was also glaring at Boba. 

“Report, cadet,” the adult copy snapped, no sharper than he had spoken to Boba despite his expression being darker. 

The copy straightened at the adult’s attention, almost but not quite at attention. He didn’t object to the title. “Sir. I made a comment to Cadet Boba, intending to challenge him to a competition. He attacked me.” His expression went almost pouty. “I did insult him. But it was one-on-one worthy, not-” 

The adult lifted a closed fist, Boba recognizing the Mando’a hand-sign for ‘halt’. The cadet shut up immediately, though he continued his glower-pout. 

The copy looked between them consideringly, eventually giving a sharp nod as he apparently decided something and turned to Boba. Boba drew himself up, meeting the copy’s gaze squarely. He could recognize the stance of someone about to dish out a punishment. It wasn’t the first or the last time he’d been punished for fighting and he was determined to face it honorably. He didn’t regret it.

“Cadet Boba,” the adult addressed him sternly but evenly, and Boba had to shove away another pang of painful nostalgia at that tone, “Are you aware of one-on-one?” 

Boba blinked. “...no?” 

The copy nodded. “Thought not. For your future reference, attacking another cadet in that manner is reprimand worthy. Even if they insult you. If you find you have the urge, next time declare one-on-one. Reference your Cadet Regulations Manual, section 7-besh, for the complete regulations regarding one-on-one.” He took a step closer, dropping his voice so his next words were really only audible to Boba. “You get one pass, vod’ika. Don’t abuse it.” 

He then simply turned away, leaving Boba stunned. That was it? 

“Cadet Tory,” he addressed the younger copy this time. “I know you have no such excuse. Your conduct was unbecoming.” The copy literally flinched, and Boba couldn’t help a flare of savage pleasure. “Not strictly reprimand worthy, though I will be making a note in your official record. Instigating conflict is detrimental to unit cohesion and morale.” 

The copy made a sound of protest, a nearly panicked look leaching into his eyes. “What?! But Instructor, _he_ hit _me_!” 

“You provoked an unknown element and paid the price. Next time don’t poke sleeping lothcats.” The armored clone shut him down sharply. The copy bit his lip, his hands fisting at his sides. 

“Please, sir. I’m trying for an invitation-” 

“Should have thought of that before you decided to try to pick a fight.” The armored copy turned away, picking up his bucket. “Dismissed.” 

“Sir-”

“I said _dismissed_ , Cadet.” 

The copy bit his lip again and deflated, turning a vicious glare on Boba, like this was somehow his fault. Boba glared right back. The copy stormed out. 

Boba started to follow, when the instructor spoke. “Remember, Boba. _One_ pass.” 

Boba glanced back at him, meeting his eye. Slowly, he nodded. “Understood. Instructor.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘sir’. The copy nodded back. 

Arreru was waiting for him in the hallway, along with Tor and Tal. The Zygerian was brimming with nervous energy, and the two cadets were clearly reacting to him, worry plain on their open faces as they held each others’ hand. 

“Boba,” Arreru greeted, hand lifting slightly from Tor’s shoulder in a half-aborted attempt to reach out to him, though he dropped it when Boba eyed his hand warily. “What happened?” 

Boba huffed, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his datapadd. “Some idiot tried to pick a fight with me.” He frowned as he pulled open the student regulation manual. “What’s one-on-one?” 

“You got challenged to one-on-one?” Tor- or maybe Tal, he still wasn’t quite sure which was which without seeing their bracelets- piped up, looking excited at the prospect. 

“No, probably gonna challenge someone,” Boba absently corrected him as he skimmed section 7-B. He frowned consideringly, feeling his brow furrow as he parsed through the overly formalized military jargon. If he was reading this right... the copies had formalized wrestling matches?

“One-on-one is the way we settle disagreements,” Arreru informed him softly, still looking concerned. “What did Tory do that warrants one-on-one?” 

Boba felt his lip curl in a sneer. “He insulted me.” 

“How?” One of the cadets piped up, innocently curious. 

Boba shrugged. “He implied I was not worthy of my Buir’s name.” 

He was not prepared for all three brothers to suddenly fluff up in indignant affront, hackles (both literal and figurative) raising and eyes narrowing. 

“Sleemo,” one of the cadets sneered, yelping when Arreru lightly smacked him. 

“Language,” the elder brother chastised him lightly, though his expression made it clear he agreed. Suddenly, he reached for Boba again, though much more confidently this time as he clapped a hand on Boba’s shoulder. Boba frowned. This time the move felt ritualistic, rather than comforting or commiserating, and when he spoke, his words were firm. “I’ll sit your corner, Boba.” 

Boba paused, recalling Kenobi making the same promise. “What does that mean?” 

The three grinned, and Boba blinked. How could two different species suddenly seem to have such strong family resemblance? 

“We’ll teach you,” Arreru assured him. 

Boba marched confidently into the courtyard, scanning the crowd purposefully. He was aware of Arreru and the cadets at his shoulder, and honestly, it was weirdly nice knowing he had their backup. He didn’t need it, and the cadets of course couldn’t be counted on for much, but it was nice. 

It wasn’t hard to identify Tory in the crowd. He was the only one with blood liberally staining his uniform. They locked eyes, and Boba felt his mouth twist into a scowl. Tory glared right back. 

Boba marched up to him, copies shifting out of his way. Finally, he planted himself in front of Tory, and bit out, “One-on-one. Tonight, 1900 hours. Gym eight.” 

Tory nodded sharply. “1900.” 

And that was that. Boba could get used to this system. It felt... good. Straightforward. 

Naturally, Cody already knew when they got back to the apartment. He raised an eyebrow at Boba, not quite disapproving, but not impressed either. “Really? On your first day?” 

Boba didn’t bother to wonder how he had known. He rolled his eyes. “I read the regulations. One-on-one is well within the guidelines. Apparently. He picked the fight anyway.” 

Cody shook his head, but just looked at Arreru. “You sitting his corner?” 

Arreru nodded. 

Cody sighed. “I’m coming to observe.” 

Actually, the whole Alverd clan ended up coming. Gree justified himself by shrugging and pointing out he was an instructor, and the regulations mandated at least three instructors be present at all one-on-ones between cadets. Cody was coming because he was both Boba’s guardian and Arreru’s buir. The cadets were just excited to see a fight, which Boba had to bemusedly chuckle at- in that way they were pure Mando’ade, he had to admit. And Mira was too young to stay alone, so to the one-on-one she went. She seemed to feed off her vode, getting screechy and just as excited as Tor and Tal. Boba grimaced and resigned himself. 

The gym was, unsurprisingly, packed when he got there, expectant excitement permeating the air. Not just cadets, most still in their school uniforms but several in casual clothes or even armor, but adult copies too were gathered, speculating to each other and if Boba wasn’t wrong, gambling. In the close sidelines, he recognised several instructors, including Todd and the instructor that had reprimanded them both, Boba still wasn’t sure his name. This gym was the one primarily used for one-on-ones, so the squares were marked with permanent paint on the lightly padded floor rather than chalk. Tory had already arrived and picked his corner, warming up with several other cadets about his age. They exchanged glares as Boba took up the opposite side and began to stretch himself, Arreru right beside him. He and Arreru wrestled briefly, making sure they were both loose and ready, and finally Boba went to his corner, Arreru taking up position just a step behind him. He faced Tory directly opposite him, and blinked. 

Tory didn’t just have someone sitting his corner. Several more cadets, all as muscular as Tory, were lined up to his second’s right. He had a line of six more cadets, and Arreru had said it wasn’t over until they were all down. 

Quietly, the blunt, calculating part of his brain realized this had been a mistake. 

But it was too late. Boba squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I did say updates would be slow, right? Hope this isn't too slow for you guys...
> 
> Todd, Hay'l, Nine, and all the other instructors and cadets are mine. Again, shout out to blue_sunshine for the Amavikka references, and I did slip a quiet cameo of Relute's Kev into this chapter. Love both those guys!


	7. Boba gets a Therapist

He was right. Tory barely broke a sweat kicking his shebs, and then Arreru’s. He wasn’t sure who was more upset about it, honestly, himself or Tory. 

The older copy looked down at him and Arreru with fierce disappointment, shaking his head. Boba glared straight back, the excited chatter of the crowd around them as credits changed hands and various voices commented on what they had just witnessed an abrasive reminder of just how _public_ that beat-down had been. He didn’t know what Tory was waiting for, but he was in zero mood to figure it out, much less give it to him. 

“Unbelievable,” Tory huffed after several moments of poignant silence between them. “You call one-on-one but you’re not going to pay the price of losing?” 

“What price?” Boba snarled thinly, attempting in vain to sit up. His ribs felt like he had a hairline fracture somewhere. 

“The public apology, Boba,” Arreru sighed where he was also still laying prone on the floor, a note of pain in his voice as a copy in armor with a red-orange medic’s cross on the shoulder pauldron and other markings in teal checked him over. 

Boba felt himself blanch. _Kark._ He really hadn’t thought this one through. Now Buir really _would_ be disappointed. 

He gritted his teeth, and ground out, every word feeling like some kind of defeat, “I... apologize.” 

Tory’s gaze somehow went flatter. “You really aren’t one of us.” 

Boba huffed a sardonic laugh. “That’s what I keep telling people. You’re the first one to listen.” 

Tory shook his head and walked away. Boba resisted the urge to spit blood in his direction. 

The medic finished with Arreru, Gree now helping Arreru to his feet while Tor and Tal chattered at him excitedly. They didn’t seem to care at all that Arreru had lost miserably, still looking at him like he was some kind of hero, though Mira was whining in an upset manner from her spot on one of the cadets’ hip as she stared at Arreru’s wounds. 

Cody and the medic moved to him next, the medic appearing amused by the whole situation and Cody frowning disapprovingly down at him. Somehow, it stung more than he had expected and he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the copy. “Am I grounded, then?” he asked, pouring all the bitter sarcasm he could into the words. 

“No,” Cody replied simply, Boba only barely registering the shift to Mando’a. “But there are laps and kitchen duty in both your futures, I think.” 

Boba blinked, and frustrated rage surged up. “What? For losing? But-” 

“No,” Cody cut him off sharply, frowning still. “You for fighting dumb, Arreru because he followed you and squadmates share punishments.” 

Boba paused, and protested lamely, “I did not fight dumb.” 

“You certainly didn’t fight smart.” Cody held up a hand, ticking off mistakes. “You engaged an opponent you clearly weren’t going to beat. You tried to use a system that you weren’t familiar with, without understanding the consequences of it. You didn’t even know why you were fighting. Pretty much the only smart thing you did was bring backup, and even that I can’t really congratulate you on because it was insufficient.” 

Boba cringed against the ground, closing his eyes again. The medic laughed under their breath. “Whoo boy. Commander’s got it in for you, shiny.” 

If Cody heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. “There are a multitude of lessons to be learned from this, Boba. I hope you pick up on at least a few of them.” He paused, obviously waiting for some reply, but Boba remained sullenly silent. Cody sighed. “Light duty restrictions for the next 48 hours. Report to Kitchen Senth when assigned. Your PT Instructor will advise you of laps when you’re off restriction. Understood?” 

“Alumina,” Boba bit out. 

“Good.” Cody shifted his address to the medic. “He cleared, Uri?” 

“Light duty and he’ll be battle ready in a few days,” the medic cheerfully reported. A hand roughly patted his shoulder, the medic not seeming to notice Boba’s flinch and grimace. 

“Good. Come on, Boba.” 

Boba blinked, opening his eyes to see Cody’s gloved hand extended. For a moment, he just stared blankly, wrestling with himself, before he finally sighed and accepted the hand. He grunted as he was hauled to his feet, wincing again as his ribs were jostled and bruises protesting, but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing any more than that. 

“Doing ok?” Arreru asked, obviously trying to tamp down on his own winces as they fell into step, following the others back to Cody’s apartment. 

Boba darted a sharp look at him, not sure if he was being mocking or what, but as usual the Zygerian just seemed earnest. He sighed. “Yeah.” He paused, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted, before giving up- he was Mando’ade, not a politician for ka’ra sake- and blurting out, “That... what you did back there. That was... good. Thanks.” 

He pretended not to see Arreru beam. 

  
  
  


“Oi, Alverd!” 

Arreru paused at the call of his name, turning to see Grift and the rest of his squad gathered around a table. Arreru flashed them a smile and the hand-sign for ‘soon’, then turned back to Boba, who was still scowling at nothing, like he had been all morning. “Don’t you have Resol’nare next?” 

Boba’s scowl somehow deepened. “I’m not going back.” 

Arreru frowned. “Why?” 

He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant, as so many of his actions were. “Useless. I don’t need it.” 

Arreru couldn’t help his scoff. “Yes you do.” 

The sneer directed at him was immediate and sharp. “What the hells would I need it for-” 

“Context.” 

That brought him up short. “What?” 

Arreru rolled his eyes. He felt like he had been doing that a lot lately. “Context. Unless you want me or the boys to stop and explain to you every time someone mentions something everyone else already knows. Like 99 or the War Hells or whatever.” 

“The _what-?_ ” Boba paused. Visibly swallowed his words. Spun on his heel to stalk away, towards his class. 

Arerru sighed as he watched him go, shaking his head. And he thought [Ba’vodu](http://mandoa.org) Obi-Wan was melodramatic. 

He finally turned to his squad, offering them a smile as he approached. “Su’cuy.” 

“Shouldn’t we be saying that?” Sallia laughed, the pink female Twi’lek bounding up to look him over more searchingly, her bright blue eyes sharply cataloging his every twitch. They were all pretty sure she was going to go medic track, even this early. She just cared too much not to. 

“Yeah, Arreru,” Vait snorted, brushing back his dark orange hair. “You got your shebs handed to you yesterday.” 

“Well we can’t win every battle,” Arreru huffed, lowering himself to sit on the bench beside Grift with a wince. 

“Why were you fighting in the first place?” 

Arreru’s eyes found Cam’s. His friend's gaze was hard, and he was immediately on guard. Something was wrong. 

“Because I would do the same for any vod that was insulted like that,” he answered carefully. “Tory was way out of line.” 

“He says he’s not vode'ade. Quite loudly and publicly, last night.” 

“He’s just lost. He’s not [dar’vode](http://mandoa.org).” 

“Only because [aruetii](http://mandoa.org) can’t be dar’vode.” 

Arreru went cold. “He’s not aruetii.” 

“He called us _copies,_ Arreru!” Arreru recoiled from the hiss of his vod’s voice, like it was a physical strike, his eyes wide. 

“Cam-” Vait softly tried to interject, looking uncomfortable. He fell silent at Cam’s dismissive gesture. 

Cam leaned in, eyes slitted into a poisonous glare. “Me and Grift and Vait; he insulted us all, worse than Tory insulted him. You’re _defending_ that?” 

“No!” Arreru shot back, shifting away further. His throat felt tight. Pacatingly, he offered, “No, of course not, Cam. But he doesn’t know.” Grift’s hand landed on his back, supportive but not quite an ‘I’ll second you’. Arreru could barely feel it. 

“He doesn’t _want_ to know.” Vait’s eyes slid away from Arreru’s with a wince, but he pressed on softly. “He... he thinks he’s better than us. He doesn’t want to be here, vod.” 

Arreru couldn’t quite stop the words from slipping from him. “I wouldn’t either if I was him.” 

Dead silence. 

Cam and Vait both stood, their faces stony, and marched away. Desperately, Arreru gasped, “That’s- that’s not what I meant, I swear-” 

“Kuur, I know, vod,” Grift murmured, and though his hand remained on his back, something about him had went stiff and cold when Vait and Cam did. Even Sallia looked stunned and distant. “What did you mean?” 

“I-I just meant... he’s been alone. For a long time. He... Boba doesn’t even know what being Vode means.” He looked between his two closest friends, fear closing his throat. He wasn’t going to loose his squad because he agreed to help Boba, was he? “He doesn’t think we’d ever want him. And I don’t know why, but after how cold Gre’Buir’s treated him... I just. I get why he’s squad-shy. He’s like the slave orphans, the ones that are angry because they don’t know how to just be hurt, except I don’t think he chose to come here. Please. I’m just trying to show him how to be Vode. Like we all got shown.” 

Slowly, Sallia and Grift thawed as he babbled, becoming thoughtful and exchanging a loaded glance. 

“You guys don’t have to help,” he added hopefully, that thing constricting his breathing relaxing a little. “It’s my family’s project. I won’t bring him around if you guys don’t want me to.” 

The silence stretched, Sallia and Grift exchanging another loaded look. Finally, Grift nodded slowly. “Ok,” he breathed. “Ok. Vode an. We won’t hold it against you, vod. Can’t speak for Cam or Vait, but we won’t. Just...”

“Try to beat some manners into his head, huh?” Sallia finished when he petered out, flashing Arreru a faint but sharp smile. 

He slumped with relief. “Will do, vod,” he promised with a huff of laughter. He reached for her slim hand, relaxing that last bit when she grasped his wrist firmly. Maybe he was on his own in this battle, but he still had his friends. “Will do.” 

  
  
  


“Uggh.” 

Boba lay on his bunk, feeling everything throb. He groaned again. Del and his cronies did not have light touches.

For a while, he contemplated just continuing to lay there and never moving again. It sounded peaceful, and like an excellent alternative to going to school. Above him, he heard Arreru shifting as well, hissing in pain every once in a while. 

He cracked an eye open to watch as Arreru gingerly made his way off his bunk, the Zygerian wincing every time he pulled on his ribs. Boba frowned, feeling his gut churn. Why did the Zygerian keep sitting his corner? Once, fine, but this was the third tenday in a row Boba had been challenged or issued a challenge with no end in sight, and the third time Arreru had backed him up. He liked to think they were both getting better, even though they had yet to win even one round each, but... Impulsively, he blurted, “You should stop sitting my corner, you know.” 

Arreru paused digging around in his locker, pulling his head out to send Boba a confused frown. “What are you talking about?” 

Boba rolled his eyes. “You heard me. You should stop. The fights aren’t going to stop anytime soon.” 

Arreru snorted, rolling his eyes and delving back into his locker. From the depths, he replied, “You’re being ridiculous. You can stop the fights by just refusing, you know.” 

Boba frowned. “I can’t refuse a one-on-one. I won’t tarnish my honor that way.” 

Arreru audibly snorted again, still half in his locker. “Yeah, ok.” 

Boba felt his frown deepen into a scowl at Arreru’s flippant answer. “Why do you care, Alverd?” he snapped irritably. 

“Because you do, _Fett_ ,” the other teenling shot back, though he sounded more amused than acerbic. Finally, he emerged and began to dress in a clean uniform, getting ready for school. 

Boba huffed and was about to reply when his own ‘padd pinged with an incoming message. Annoyed but curious, he reached for his ‘padd and thumbed open the message. He blinked, stunned, at the contents. 

Arreru seemed to notice the shift in his mood, the sounds of his movements pausing as he cautiously asked, “Boba?” 

Boba didn’t spare him even a glance, though, standing and storming into the common room, where Cody was sitting with Mira on his lap as they watched some brightly colored kid’s holo instead of his usual news, both chewing thoughtfully on toast.

Boba scowled at Cody. “I do not need _therapy_ ,” he hissed. 

Cody merely raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to pretend he didn’t know what Boba was talking about. “Naberrie’s insisting. Take it up with him.” 

So Boba did. 

**_I do not need therapy._ **

_You had your father killed in front of you, witnessed who knows what while in the company of Sing, and were a prisoner in supermax prison for nearly four years. All that would mess up an adult, and you were a youngling at the time. You need something._

**_Who the kriff are you to decide what I need?_ **

_Your legal guardian._

**_This is because I’ve been fighting, isn’t it?_ **

_Partially. A 0-3 record within a month of being there when most on Cin Vehtin go years without a one-on-one is a bit of a red flag._

**_Well I don’t want a fekking shrink._ **

_Sometimes when we want to talk the least is when we need to talk the most. But if you would prefer to talk with one of your brothers, I’d be fine with that._

**_So you just want to know what’s going on in my head, then?_ **

_No. I would not ask what you talked about, as long as I knew you were talking. Trust me, it helps. And you can’t be a good leader if you’ve got baggage cluttering up your head._

Boba scowled at the screen even as he begrudgingly conceded that point to Naberrie. 

**_I still don’t want therapy. And I'm not about to confide in one of the copies._ **

_Then it’s back to prison for you._

The blunt threat made his stomach twist. 

**_What?! Why?_ **

_I can’t in good conscience have an unstable threat to the galaxy running around, can I? Kind of antithesis to bringing balance and all that._

**_You can’t do that._ **

_I got you out in under a month. What makes you think I can’t put you back in less?_

_And don’t think going back to prison would get you out of therapy, either. I can pull enough strings to get you a therapist there, too._

Well fek and double fek. He suddenly realized he was on the losing side of a not-fight with Naberrie, and he suddenly had a lot more sympathy for the judge from his hearing. It sucked. 

**_Fine._ **

  
  
  


Boba slumped on the couch in the small, practical office. He was aware he looked ridiculous, slouching like a pouting youngling in full armor, but he didn’t care. He was here against his will and he wanted everyone to know it. 

His head swiveled to face the door when it opened, permitting a slight figure also in armor to enter. He felt his eyebrow raise, recognizing traditional Mando armor, instead of the much more common clone-style armor. They wore a loose gray undersuit, hard-worn armor painted in forest green with black accents and a stylized feline on the side of their bucket, a long blaster rifle slung across their back. 

They paused, then faced him, crossing their arms across their chest. He could practically see the raised eyebrow behind their faceplate. 

“ _Well_ ,” a low voice, made scratchy by the vocorder of the helmet, said into the appraising silence. “ _I think I have the wrong patient. The file submitted by Commander Cody said I was seeing a sixteen-year, not a five-year_.” 

Boba scowled, even though they couldn’t see it. “ _I am here under duress_.” 

The Mando’s body language became more open, hands shifting to their hips instead, leaning back in surprise. “ _A Mando’ade, forced to do something they don’t want to? What could possibly be being held over your head, kid?_ ” 

“ _Prison_.” Boba let himself be blunt. 

“ _Ah_.” The Mando nodded knowingly. “ _Compelling reason._ ” They reached up, pulling off their bucket and revealing the head and face of an older human woman, dark-skinned and maybe forty, he guessed. Her head was shaved, her features sleek and noble with triangular chin and a small nose with a tiny golden stud in the left nostril. Her eyes, which were a startling shade of bright blue made all the more striking by her dark skin, danced with amusement, and when she grinned at him, her teeth were blazingly white against her skin. “I can see why you’re standoffish, young Boba Fett. This may not work for you, traditional therapy does not for everyone, but I hope you will give it a fair shake.” 

Boba stared at her. “ _You are my therapist?_ ” 

She nodded. “I am Healer Srina To-mae, of Clan Eldar,” she introduced herself. “Mando’ade, and Mind Healer.” 

Boba felt like he was reeling. “ _I didn’t know Mando’ade could be healers,_ ” he admitted in a mumble. 

Healer To-mae laughed, a rich laugh. “We are a culture. A culture of just fighters cannot stand for millenia, and Mandalorian Space provides for itself. While we are all warriors first, we still need to feed and clothe and heal ourselves. Starving to death is no honorable way to die.” 

Boba couldn’t help a snort. “ _True_.” He watched her set aside her bucket and rifle, placing them in arms reach of a chair, then pull off her gloves and tuck them into her belt. He could tell by the way she handled the weapon she was intimately familiar with it; it wasn’t just for show. 

She went to a small conservator in the corner, asking him casually, “Drink?” 

“ _No thanks._ ” 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She grabbed a bottle of water from the conservator and sat across from him. She crossed an ankle over her knee, observing him intensely. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to speak, she spoke again, continuing on the topic of Mando’ade who were more than warriors. “When it comes to healing, particularly the very intimate healing of the mind, warriors are often far more comfortable sharing their pains with fellow warriors. Don’t you agree?” 

Boba inclined his head slightly. It was true, if some weak Alderanni or Correlian or, ka’ra forbid, a Coruscanti had walked in here, he would never even consider speaking to them at all, and he couldn’t see any Mando’ade worth their beskar doing it either. Probably not any of the copies either. There were just some things you couldn’t make a non Mando understand that a Mando’ade would understand implicitly. 

Healer To-mae returned the nod. “It is an unfortunate fact that our lifestyle, noble though it is, can cause even the most well-adjusted Mando mental anguish. It is a weakness of the sentient mind, unfortunately. But in the end, we are Mando’ade. We confront and overcome, and there is no shame in calling for backup.” 

Boba remained sullenly silent. She continued. 

“My mother, Selima To-mae, went marching away four years ago.” Boba jerked at the non-sequitur. Healer To-mae smiled sadly. “You should have seen me. A grown woman, nearly forty two, and I wept over her like a youngling. She taught me to use a blaster rifle. That rifle there, in fact,” she gestured to the rifle she had set aside, a wistful look in her eyes. “She was my role model. Taught me and my sisters to be proper Mando’ade. She had a cutting tongue, and the warmest hugs.” 

Healer To-mae spoke about her mother for nearly an hour, her voice a soothing cadence. She didn’t try to make him talk, or even talk about how she herself overcame her grief. She just shared her memories of her. Boba relaxed into it, listening and remembering his own Buir, and startled when a sharp beeping came from her comm-link. 

She silenced the alarm with a jab of a button. “Looks like our time is up, Young Fett. I will see you in two days.” 

Boba gaped at her, sitting up for the first time. “ _That’s it?_ ” he asked, almost without thinking about it. 

She smiled with an inelegant little snort. “Did you want to talk today?” 

“... _no_ ,” he admitted. 

“Didn’t think so,” she hummed. “I cannot force you into healing, and neither can Cody. All we can do is force you into this room, and that does absolutely nothing in terms of your mental health.” She shrugged. “The choice must come from you. We are scheduled for ten of these sessions; if, at the end of it, you have made no progress, I will not schedule you for any more, and all you will have endured is ten hours of me prattling.” 

Boba clenched his fists once, then nodded briskly, and stood, marching out of the office. He needed to think. 

  
  
  


“Questions, vod’ike?” Instructor Vrah asked, her sharp gray eyes sweeping over them. 

Boba glanced around the circle himself, but the story today- all the lessons in Resol’nare class were taught in story format- had been particularly harsh, the last stand of General Di and Captain Keeli. The freedom of a planet, bought with an entire battalion of lives. The Twi’lekki of the class, especially Elav, were particularly bothered, and despite his usual insistence that he didn’t want to be counted among the Mando’ade, Boba could make out him whispering Remembrance to himself like several others were doing. Most of his classmates were withdrawn, quiet, as they absorbed the lesson. Boba swallowed, and slowly raised a curled hand. 

Both Instructors blinked, surprise in their eyes, not that Boba could blame them. He had never spoken in this class before, only listened and glared. Still, she nodded, acknowledging him. “Yes, vod’ika?” 

Boba swallowed dryly. “What if they had called for backup?” 

Their brows furrowed, and several of his classmates looked up. Gently, she pressed, “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” he took a steadying breath, looking down to his clenched hands, “Would their sacrifice have been... lessened, if they called for backup? Even if no one came?” 

“Of course not,” the male Instructor Vrah snorted, making Boba look up again. The older clone was shaking his head, looking like he had just heard the most ridiculous thing in his life. “There is never shame in calling for backup. If a vod calls, we answer, and that same reassurance is extended to all. Never be afraid to call for backup, or to accept it if someone offers, no matter the battle.” He glanced around the circle, meeting everyone’s eyes as he imparted another lesson. His eyes met Boba’s, holding them for a long moment, before Boba slowly nodded. Transmission received. 

  
  


Two days after seeing her last, Boba Fett marched into Healer To-mae’s office again. She was waiting for him this time, sitting in the same chair as last time, reading a datapadd as she sipped at a mug. She looked up when he entered, smiling in welcome. 

“Su’cuy,” she greeted him cordially. 

Boba hesitated for a moment, steadying his nerves with a deep breath, before reaching up to draw off his bucket. Stiffly, he tucked it under his arm, and met her now surprised gaze. “My name is Boba Fett, Healer To-mae.” 

Understanding flashed in her eyes as she nodded, and something in Boba’s gut relaxed in relief. He hadn’t been sure she would quite understand the significance of him introducing himself with bucket down, since that was a Vode’ade convention, not a Mando’ade one. But she merely replied casually, “I know your name, Boba Fett.” 

Boba nodded, still stiff as he sat on the couch again, setting his bucket down on the floor by his feet and leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest. He fought the urge to fidget. 

Healer To-mae seemed to either be ignoring his discomfort or oblivious to it, though, smiling warmly at him as she turned off the padd and set it aside, curling both hands around her mug. “Drink?” she offered lightly. 

Boba shook his head. He probably would throw up anything right now. 

She just nodded. “So what do you want to talk about today?” 

Boba sighed gustily, fingers tightening on his biceps. “I... don’t know where to start,” he bit out. 

Healer To-mae shrugged. “How are you liking the Alverds?” she asked. A nice neutral topic. Boba relaxed slightly. 

“Well Mira’s basically a baby,” he deadpanned. Healer To-mae snorted, her bright eyes sparkling with mirth, and Boba couldn’t quite help the corner of his mouth turning up. “She’s... mostly just there. Tor and Tal seem to have decided it’s their stars-given mission to make me into a ‘good ori’vod’. They're annoying, but occasionally manage to be amusing. Gree just doesn’t like me, so I avoid him. I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than a dozen words since I got here.” 

Healer To-mae frowned slightly. “Does that bother you?” 

Boba shrugged. “I expected all the copies to treat me like that, honestly.” 

“That’s not a yes or a no,” she pointed out softly, but waved a hand for him to continue. 

Boba frowned, but did so. “Arreru is... not doing the _same_ thing as the cadets, not really, but really close. I think he’s decided to be my friend.” He felt his nose scrunch. He had never really had a friend before. “He keeps volunteering to sit my corner in my one-on-ones.” 

Healer To-mae’s mouth quirked in an almost smile. “I see. Sounds like you’re closest to Arreru.” 

He shrugged. “I guess.” 

“Tell me about him.” 

Boba sighed and began to speak. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, Arreru has friends and a life outside of his family! Naturally, Boba doesn't realize that, being a bit of a self-centered little shit, but Arreru does. Pray for the poor boy, seriously. He and Cody are tryin', y'all. 
> 
> BTW, if it feels like there's a lot of time skip and events gloss-over in this, it's because there is. Turns out I suck at writing both fight scenes and day-to-day school drama. I would suck as an anime writer. If this was a movie or TV show or something, there would probably be like a montage or something in between "will do" and "uggh", but this isn't so there isn't. Basically all you're missing is Boba and Arreru keep getting their asses handed to them in one-on-ones, Boba's doing fine academically but awful integration wise, and Boba and Arreru doing their kitchen duties and laps without any incident whatsoever. 
> 
> I'm not really happy with this chapter but I figure eventually just gotta make peace with it so I can move on to more interesting parts of the story. So here you go.


	8. A Trip Upstairs

“And there.” A distinctly satisfied air emanated from Arreru as he jabbed the button on his datapadd screen, submitting his essay. He let out a sigh. “That’s everything.” 

Boba grunted in acknowledgement, looking up from the text he was reading on Mando’ade history and leaning back in his chair. He had submitted his own final assignments about an hour ago; if he never had to write another word on the proper conjugation of past-tense verbs in Basic it would be too soon. “What now?” 

“Hm?” Arreru looked up, taking a moment to focus on him. “Oh. Now we have a rest ten-day, then we start next quarter.” 

“Hm.” What to do with a ten-day to himself? 

“Ori’vod!” 

“Hey!” Arreru turned toward his younger brothers with a welcoming grin as they ran up, both beaming and giddy. “Done for the day?” 

“[Lek](http://mandoa.org),” Tor chirped, Tal only a half-step behind him, both bright and bouncy as usual. Perhaps a little more so. Boba was exhausted just watching them. 

“Good,” Arreru nodded, gathering up his stuff and stowing it all away. “Come on, I just need to change and then we’ll go. You coming, Boba?” 

Boba raised an eyebrow. “Coming where?” 

“The markets!” Tal burst, rocking back on his heels with a wide grin. “Ori’vod promised to take us today.” 

He scoffed. “Pass. I’m going to go to the blaster range.” 

“Ugh, that’s all you do,” Tal groaned, rolling his eyes and flopping against his vod dramatically, hanging off Tor’s shoulders. “You’re always either at the range or the library. Don’t you ever do anything fun?” 

“Blaster practice is fun,” he muttered petulantly in response. 

“Now, now, boys,” Arreru smoothly cut in, shaking his head with just a hint of sly amusement in his smile. “If Boba wants to be predictable and go to the range _again,_ well, that’s his prerogative. A good vod is supportive, right? It’s not his fault he doesn’t know how to have fun.” 

Boba could see what he was doing, he wasn’t an idiot. Didn’t stop an indignant, “I do so know how to have fun!” from escaping his mouth. 

“Sure, sure,” Arreru nodded indulgently, taking each of the boys’ hands in his own and moving to lead them away. “Whatever you say. You have _fun_ at the range, Boba-” 

“And how, exactly, is the markets more fun than the range?” he snapped, making all three pause and throw him challenging little grins. 

“Come find out,” Arreru invited simply. “You can take one afternoon off.” 

“Fine,” he huffed. 

They made a brief stop at the apartment, where school supplies and uniforms were dropped off. Uniforms were exchanged for armor for him and Arreru and lighter, more casual clothing for the boys, and then they were off to the grav-lifts.

They stepped out into the midday heat, oppressive even through armor, and Boba grimaced in his bucket at the tight-packed press of beings as they flowed through the narrow side-street like a living river. Arreru led the way, the boys following in his wake like ducklings and Boba bringing up the rear. 

He looked around curiously as they walked; really he hadn’t explored the aboveground parts of Di’base much. At all, really; he hadn’t been aboveground since the camping trip. Tagging along after Arreru he had seen plenty of the belowground parts, and in direct contrast to the orderly corridors and regulated feeling of everything there, aboveground still reminded him of a small Rylothi town. Voices mixed and acted as counterpoint to distant drumming music, brightly colored clothes standing out against mottled clay buildings and the ever-present white armor. 

In the press of bodies, anonymous behind his faceplate, no one looked twice at him. It was almost a relief. 

Eventually, the crowd spread out and the music got louder as they emerged into a large marketplace, dominated by a fountain in the center with a sculpture of several twi’leks dancing in a circle at the center, water flowing from their outstretched palms. Small younglings, closer to Mira’s age than the boys’, played in the shallow water. Every shopfront, both permanent installments and temporary carts, was busy, beings of all kinds chatting and browsing and haggling. 

“ _Alright boys, divide and conquer. I’m going to get midmeal_ ,” Arreru proposed over the external comms, nodding towards a cart that appeared to be selling skewers of things and bowls of things. “ _You guys find us a spot to sit and eat near the fountain._ ”

“Can we get frozen cream, too?” Tal asked excitedly before Arreru set off on his new trajectory. 

“ _Maybe,_ ” the older Mando hedged with a chuckle, and disappeared into the crowd. Boba frowned as the boys drifted closer to him; not taking his hand or anything silly like that, but undeniably closer. He wasn’t given much time to really consider it, though, Tor and Tal peering consideringly in the direction of the fountain before taking off, hand in hand. Startled, Boba swore and darted after them. 

They ended up settling at the edge of the fountain, because Tor wanted to dangle his feet in the water as he ate, and the air was marginally cooler near the water anyway, which Boba liked. Arreru didn’t take long, thankfully, reappearing with a carefully balanced stack of four covered bowls in his hands that he distributed along with a pair of chopsticks each. 

Boba opened the bowl curiously, finding some kind of stir-fry. He slipped off his bucket, and was assaulted by the intensified sensations of the market; everything was louder, brighter, hotter. The sultry scents of spices and sun-baked earth lingered in the air, undercut by cool water. He squinted balefully at the sun for a moment before turning back to investigating his bowl, tentatively identifying the strips of meat as nerf mixed with a selection of vegetables, all drowning in a sticky spicy-sweet sauce. He wrinkled his nose a bit as he tasted the sauce; it was a bit too sweet for his tastes. 

“Tal, pass that to Boba.” 

He looked up at Arreru’s comment, finding the aforementioned cadet holding out several small packets to him. He frowned, but took them, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he examined them. HOTROOT, the label loudly proclaimed. 

“I know you prefer your food to give you [hetikles](http://mandoa.org),” Arreru teased lightly. “Thought you might want a bit.” 

Boba swallowed thickly. “Thanks.” 

“Can I have some?” Tal asked, holding out his bowl, Arreru obligingly tearing open a packet for him and helping him mix it in. While Tal was satisfied with just one, however, Boba added four before he felt the sweetness was cut enough. Tor and Arreru both appeared content with the dish remaining sweet, though. They ate with a companionable air, Arreru and his vod’ike chit-chatting about nothing, the four of them passing a bag full of some kind of fried dumplings, filled with a nutty paste, and a bottle of blue milk in between them. Despite having done similar countless times over the three months since he arrived on Cin Vehtin, either in Cody’s kitchen or one of the various mess halls, this time something felt... different. Boba couldn’t quite put a finger on it. 

He let his eyes roam over the crowd as he ate, the babble of his companions’ conversation joining the general hubbub around him. Now that he had adjusted to the environment a bit, he was surprised to realize just how... similar everyone aboveground acted compared to the belowground. It was a little more close-packed, maybe, but the ebb and flow and patterns were all the same as any mess hall or youngling center on any level below. They could even be sitting on the edge of the fountain in the EdFac courtyard instead, if he ignored the aesthetic details. 

“Alright, so, plan of action,” Arreru began, pulling his attention away from watching some copy showing a group of mixed cadets a reverse-grip vibroblade hold and attack and back to his companions, “Where do we want to go, vod’ike?” 

“Pet Shop!” Tal immediately burst, eyes bright. 

“After frozen cream,” Tor modified, Tal nodding in agreement. 

Arreru raised an eyebrow, licking sauce off his thumb. “You know Buir still isn’t going to let you have a pet, right, Tal?” 

“I just wanna look!” Tal whined, eyes going big and pleading. 

“And then I wanna go to the junk shops,” Tor butted in, as usual far calmer than his batchmate. Where Tal was all excited pleading, Tor simply spoke like it was a forgone conclusion and he was merely informing them instead of a request. It was almost imperious, and almost certainly learned from Cody, and made Boba smirk wryly. Kid could turn into a terror if he decided to go into politics.

Arreru sent Tal another warning glance, but nodded in acceptance of Tor’s wish before looking at him. “Boba?” 

He froze and deliberately swallowed his mouthful before answering. “I... don’t know what there is to do around here.” 

Arreru just shrugged. “Let us know if anything catches your eye.” 

They finished eating, wiping up the leftover sauce from their bowls with some kind of flatbread that reminded him a bit of [haarshun](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Haarshun_bread) (but with a flavor, which was nice) before they returned the bowls and utensils to the cart, the chunky twi’lek manning the cart accepting them back with a cheerful ‘Vor’e’. Boba waited until they were leaving the food market to ask Arreru over a closed comm line, “ _Why did you give the bowls back?_ ”

“ _Um, to get the deposit back?_ ” Arreru answered him slowly, sounding confused. “ _Just like in the mess halls._ ” 

“ _What_?” 

“ _Has no one shown you the cred system yet?_ ” When Boba slowly shook his head, Arreru shook his own. “ _I’ll show you later._ ” 

Boba’s frown deepened but he followed the vode. As the younglings had demanded, they stopped at another cart selling frozen cream in little cups before Arreru led them out of the food market to another connected by a narrow side-street that appeared to be primarily selling livestock. They ducked into a shop full of cages and pens holding a variety of smaller animals, Tal and Tor eagerly disappearing among the rows to gawk at the various animals for sale while Boba and Arreru lingered by the door. 

Arreru turned toward him, apparently content to leave the cadets to their own devices here, as he pulled out a datapadd. “ _Ok, so,_ ” he typed rapidly at the keyboard, “ _Most of the Ori’vode never really got used to actually paying for stuff, so a lot of payments and credit exchanges are done through an online portal that just automatically tracks this stuff. Every time we get food from the mess or another eating establishment, they add a few creds to the overall price as a deposit. To reduce waste by keeping the trays and utensils and stuff coming back._ ” Finally, he turned the ‘padd so Boba could look at the screen, showing him a list of what looked like bank account deductions and deposits. There were several from the last hour; a large deduction, a few creds deposit, then another smaller deduction from only about ten minutes ago. Midmeal, deposit, frozen cream. 

“ _Has this been happening for me, too?_ ” Sharply, he demanded, “ _Has someone been tracking what I’m doing?!_ ” 

“ _[Udesii, wayii](http://mandoa.org),_” Arreru huffed, and Boba could practically hear him roll his eyes. “ _It’s not a person, it’s an automated system. And it’s private, only you and authorized personnel can access the records._ _Didn’t Co’Buir show you yours? He should have set one up for you when you got here. Maybe on the way back from Coruscant._ ” 

“ _He must have forgotten,_ ” he bit out, feeling strangely violated. These copies just had no concept whatsoever of privacy, did they? A good slicer could know anything they wanted about anyone on this planet between the personnel records and these banking records. “ _Wait... where are you getting creds?_ ” he asked warily. More importantly, what was his own spending being deducted against? He wasn’t in debt, was he? 

“ _Volunteering, mostly,_ ” Arreru shrugged. “ _I’ve got a little more put away from an apprenticeship I did too a few quarters back, but that’s most of it._ ” 

Boba blinked. “ _So... all that youngling-minding... we were getting **paid** for that?_” 

Arreru shrugged. “ _Yeah, I guess._ ” 

“ _Huh_.” Boba considered that, suddenly wondering exactly what his bank account looked like and noting a few questions for Cody tonight over kaf. 

“Ori’vod, come look!” Tal cried excitedly from somewhere in the shop, and Arreru turned his attention back to his vod’ike, letting Boba consider and absorb this new information. 

When the cadets were finally done gawking at animals, Arreru led them next to another market, this one much quieter and apparently much more general purpose; he saw fabric merchants, jewelers, a variety of both specialty and generalized sundry good stores and artisans. Tor was the one to dart into a cramped, crowded looking little shop this time, his head already buried in a box as he dug through the contents when the rest of them caught up. The owner of the shop, a wizened old Toydarian, nodded curtly to them as they entered before going back to intensely considering a small puzzle-box in her hands. 

Neither Arreru nor Tal asked Tor what he was doing, merely drifting further into the shop to poke around themselves; obviously this was normal behavior for him. Boba watched him pull out and discard several different trinkets and bits of junk with no discernable rhyme or reason, considering each seriously before shaking his head solemnly and putting it back. 

Finally, Boba sighed and said, “Alright, since no one else is gonna ask, I’ll bite. What are you looking for?” 

Tor shrugged, not looking up from the broken wind-up toy in his hands. “Dunno yet. Something wizard.” He finally gave a solemn head shake, carefully putting the toy back and going to a shelf, beginning to scour the contents. “I’ll know when I find it.” 

Honestly, Boba wasn’t sure what he expected from the kid. He decided to let it go. 

They spent several hours wandering from junk shop to junk shop, Tor searching as earnestly as if he was a bounty hunter looking for any clue of his quarry for this mysterious ‘wizard thing’ while Arreru and Tal amused themselves with the oddities they found in the stacks and piles and Boba trailed along, absently observing. He was half-heartedly poking around in a pile of decent condition blaster parts, thinking vaguely about building his own blaster or maybe modifying some RB-63’s, when a voice caught his attention. 

“SURRENDER, DEPUR!” Tal barked in a mock-deep voice, and Boba nearly felt his heart exit his body when he turned to see a karking _blaster_ pointed at his face. 

“ _Et chu ta-!_ ” he yelped, reflexively moving to disarm the cadet (a bit violently, maybe, but he was startled) only to have Arreru suddenly grab him in a headlock, twisting him away from the cadet. 

“ _Whoa, udesii! It’s a toy, Boba!_ ” Arreru nearly shouted. 

“ _Karking_ _**what**?! _” he snarled, falling still in the Zygerian’s hold when his words finally filtered through his blind panic. 

“ _A toy. See?_ ” Arreru held out a hand to Tal, who obligingly placed the blaster in Arreru’s hand, his eyes wide and face a little pale. Arreru flipped it, showing him the ‘REPLICA’ stamp in bright letters on the side and butt. “ _It looks like a real blaster, built like one, but it’s got no powerpack connectors. Good for adjusting to the feel of a blaster, but otherwise completely harmless._ ” 

Stiffly, Boba patted Arreru’s arm, the other boy cautiously letting him go and handing him the blaster when he reached for it. With practiced fingers, he broke it down, confirming Arreru’s words; it looked and felt like a real blaster, but a few missing vital components made it completely useless as anything but a blunt projectile. Slowly, he let out a breath, deliberately counting to ten so he didn’t scream. 

Tor’s soft, nervous giggle broke the tense silence. “Boba said bad words.” 

Arreru snorted, shaking his head. “ _Yes he did, and if you don’t want Gre’Buir to lecture you you’ll not repeat it. What you got there?_ ” Tor grinned brightly as he turned to offer whatever little curiosity he had found now to his ori’vod. 

The moment passed, but Boba still jumped when a small hand lightly tapped his arm, turning to face Tal’s big, wet eyes. 

“I-I’m sorry, vod,” he nearly whispered, inflecting the word vod be nothing more than passingly familiar and respectful, and Boba sighed. Swiftly, he reassembled the toy and held it back out to the cadet. 

“ _Next time, finger outside the trigger guard_ ,” he snapped gruffly. “ _That’s how I know if you’re serious about firing or not. Might save your life someday._ ” 

Solemnly, Tal nodded, carefully putting the toy back where he had found it and darting to Arreru’s side, tucking himself under Arreru’s arm. Arreru didn’t acknowledge it save for placing a protective hand on his shoulder, tucking him in close. 

The moment might have passed, but it certainly wasn’t forgotten. The easy camaraderie that they had been enjoying most of the afternoon was gone, both cadets staying as close to Arreru and simultaneously as far from Boba as they could without being obvious about it. Even Arreru stopped actively trying to include him in the conversation; not cold, but not friendly anymore either. Boba ground his back teeth and pretended not to notice as they continued to wander.

If Cody noticed anything different about his sons’ behavior toward Boba when they met him at the grav-lifts about an hour later, he didn’t mention it, simply hugging his younger sons like he usually did and affectionately tapping his and Arreru’s buckets together when he was within range. “ _Have fun?_ ” he asked. 

Boba’s gut clenched. Arreru wouldn’t rat on him, would he?

“ _Lek,_ ” Arreru answered casually, his vod’ike nodding in agreement with huge grins as they launched into their usual babbling report. 

Boba waited until Cody’s attention was completely absorbed by the cadets, him and Arreru trailing a couple paces behind as they usually did before asking, closed comm, “ _Why didn’t you tell him?_ ” 

Arreru shrugged. “ _Nothing to tell, is there? There was a situation and it got handled. No one’s hurt. It’s all fine._ ” 

“ _Uh-huh._ ” Seemed it was time for his least favorite game; did he really let it go or was he hanging on to it for blackmail purposes later? Arreru didn’t seem the type, but then quiet ones rarely did. 

They walked in silence for a bit longer, before Arreru piped up again. “ _That’s the line, by the way._ ” 

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Hurting my vod’ike._ ” His voice was calm, collected; a statement of fact rather than a threat, but Boba could hear the beskar in his voice. _“I saw the disarm you were going for; you would have broken his arm. That’s the line, Boba Fett. I’ll give you a pass today, since you didn’t know about the toy blasters and nothing actually happened. Just remember, though. You can do what you like to me, but if you ever hurt any of my vod’ike I will personally put your shebs in a bacta tank. Clear?_ ” 

“ _Touchy_ ,” he muttered, raising his hands in surrender when Arreru’s bucket turned sharply, most likely glaring at him. For such a shy Mando, Arreru had inherited quite the glare. “ _Alumina, I get it. But isn’t protecting the cadets your buire job?_ ” 

Arreru abruptly spun to face him, stance solid, Boba barely avoiding running into him and reflexively shifting his weight onto his back foot in a defensive pose, but Arreru just sounded tired and sad when he spoke. “ _No. It’s everyone’s job to look out for everyone. That’s what being Vode’ade is, Boba._ ” He sighed, and Boba swallowed a strange lump in his throat down. “ _I hope someday you’ll get that._ ” 

No judgement, no anger. Just... sad. With that, Arreru turned and began moving again, and Boba couldn’t help but feel small. He silently trailed after him. 

The tense treatment from the boys and Arreru continued through the rest of the evening. Boba could tell Gree noticed but decided not to say anything, though he did shoot Cody a look. Mira also seemed to notice something was amiss, darting little looks at her ori’vode and Boba, but lacked the ability to articulate any questions. Tal and Tor distracted her anyway, making faces at her until she was giggling again. Cody, as usual, just seemed to be determined to pretend everything was normal. 

When the food was done, Cody glanced around the table consideringly, before announcing casually, “Who’s up for sparring?” 

“Me!” the cadets burst simultaneously, eyes bright with excitement. Boba glanced at Arreru from the corner of his eye, but Arreru didn’t look at him, merely nodding. 

Cody nodded in turn. “Boys, it’s your turn to clear. You two clear down, Boba and Arreru set up the mats.” When everything was set up, Gree settled on the couch with Mira, both looking wary, and after some initial stretches, the cadets joined them at a gesture from Cody. 

“Alright, Arreru, Boba,” Cody called, nodding towards the mats. “You’re up first.” 

He and Arreru faced off, but it was different than before. Arreru wasn’t really any better than before, but he was... _ruthless,_ in a way he hadn’t been during previous spars. He pulled his arms in close in a boxing stance Boba hadn’t seen him use before; though Boba wasn’t sure why, his kicks and punches becoming devastating, Arreru clearly extremely comfortable and practiced with the moves. He stopped hesitating. Thrown off-kilter by surprise, it was only a few minutes before a swift spinning kick to Boba’s jaw decked him, leaving him blinking on the mats. 

“Switch,” Cody called softly, eyes sharp, undoubtedly noticing everything but not commenting on anything. Boba dragged himself up with a wince, already starting to feel a bruise and a headache form. 

Tor and Tal took their turn, Cody coaching them as usual, and the abrupt bit of normalcy served to throw just how different everything else about this training session was into sharp relief. Boba frowned, trying to figure out what, exactly, was happening here, but before he could really come to any conclusion Tor and Tal were done (Tor winning by a slim margin) and Cody called, “Switch.” 

Again Arreru smacked him down, and again neither Cody nor Gree said anything, merely observing. 

“Switch.” 

Again, the weird shift back to normal. Tal won this time, but they were both quiet as they went to sit with Gree and Mira, even they noticing finally that this wasn’t a normal training session. 

“Switch.” 

This time, Arreru charged straight at him, managing to wrestle him to the ground and pin him facedown. Boba snarled into the mats, struggling, but Arreru’s grip was firm. 

“Yield,” Arreru demanded tightly. 

Boba grit his teeth, attempting to lunge away, but Arreru dragged him back, this time dropping him a little rougher and knocking the wind out of him. 

“Yield!” he demanded again. Boba considered his options briefly before reluctantly nodding. 

“[Gar parjii](http://mandoa.org),” he bit out. Arreru finally let up, standing, but his glare didn’t as he stood over Boba, reminding him uncomfortably of his one-on-ones-

Wait a minute. 

He glanced at Cody, who was still watching impassively. No help from that sector. 

Gritting his teeth, Boba dragged himself to sitting, but didn’t stand. “[N'eparavu takisit](http://mandoa.org),” he offered stiffly, looking up to meet Arreru’s narrowed gaze. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Arreru snapped. 

Boba looked at the cadets, who looked startled. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Arreru again. 

“Don’t say it unless you know why you’re apologizing.” 

He huffed, feeling his lip curl in frustration. “What am I apologizing for, then?” 

Arreru’s arms crossed, his frown deepening, but he answered somewhat evenly. “Tal apologized for scaring you. You didn’t apologize for scaring him.” 

Boba groaned, but nodded, turning back to Tal. “N'eparavu takisit, Tal.” 

Tal nodded slowly with a thoughtful little frown. “S’ok. You wouldn’t have really hurt me, right?” 

He scoffed. “Yes, I would have. But,” he shot Arreru a stalling gesture when the Zygerian started to snarl something, letting him finish, “I shouldn’t have.” Tal nodded thoughtfully.

“Damn straight,” Arreru muttered, but let out a long breath, the lingering tension in his shoulders finally draining away, and when he opened his eyes again, he offered Boba a small smile and a hand up. Boba blinked at the hand, surprised. 

“Really? We’re just... good, now?” 

“Yep,” Arreru shrugged, still holding out his hand. “You demonstrated you understand why we were upset, and admitted that you were wrong. Ideally you will also demonstrate you learned your lesson by changing your behavior, but that can only happen over time. So for now we’re good, and that’s that.” 

“Huh.” Gingerly, he took Arreru’s hand, letting him pull him to his feet. Boba wobbled, wincing as new bruises were aggravated. Not even close to the worst beat-down he had received since starting at Di’base EdFac, but Arreru had definitely embraced the literal definition of ‘[muun'bajir](http://mandoa.org)’. “Ugh. You’ve been holding out on me, Alverd,” he huffed. “Where were those moves before?” 

Arreru huffed a laugh. “I’ve used them in the one-on-ones, but I guess you’ve never noticed since you’re usually on your back by the time I’m in the square. During sparring I like to change it up to stuff I’m not good at yet. You know, to improve.” 

“[Mur’sheb](http://mandoa.org),” Boba muttered, no heat to the insult. 

The Zygerian released his hand when he was steady on his feet to clap a hand on his shoulder, offering him another smile and snicker, then turned to his family. 

“I’m going for a shower. Night, all.” 

“I should get Mira to bed,” Gree announced, standing with the drowsy girl in his arms to follow Arreru down the hall. 

“You too, boys. Bedtime,” Cody hummed, making a little shooing gesture at the younglings, who whined but complied. When Boba moved to follow, he stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. “Stay, Boba.” 

It wasn’t until the sounds down the hall settled that Cody turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Rough day?” Boba scoffed, rolling his eyes, and Cody snorted. “Come on, help me with the mats.” 

They put the mats up, Boba waiting until they were all squared away to gather enough courage to ask, “Do you know what happened?” 

“Between you four, while you were out?” Cody clarified, and at Boba’s wary nod, he shook his head. “No. And I don’t need to.” He shrugged and moved serenely into the kitchen, starting up the kaf machine. 

“Why?” Boba demanded. 

Dark eyes, vaguely amused, flicked to him for only a moment. “It can be useful to understand the underlying causes of a conflict, but it’s usually not necessary. I don’t need to know what happened; clearly, Arreru took care of it, and all I needed to do was give him and you a way to bleed off the remaining aggression and make amends.” He brought two mugs to the table, Boba obligingly sitting and taking the second. “It’s one of the trickier leadership skills, figuring out exactly what you need to know and what you don’t to find a good solution, paring down all information to the relevant bits so you’re not wasting time and energy micromanaging. But it’s an important one.” Boba nodded thoughtfully. 

He watched Cody sip at his kaf and pull out his ever-present datapadd, and reminded, asked, “What’s the cred system?” 

Cody looked up. “I was wondering when you were going to ask. You just thought everything was free, didn’t you?” 

Boba flushed, skating his gaze to the side. 

Cody’s ‘padd slid across the table, and he immediately noted the name at the top. _Boba Fett._ He snatched it up, drinking in the data. Looked like he wasn’t rich, but he wasn’t broke yet either. His eyebrows climbed as he matched up deposit dates with memories of youngling-minding and other tasks he had assisted with when he tagged along with Arreru, quickly calculating hourly rates. Apparently volunteering was pretty lucrative around here. 

Cody waited until he finally looked up and asked a question to start explaining. “How?” 

“Comm signatures, mostly. I’m not a techead, but I can introduce you to one if you want a more in-depth explanation,” Cody shrugged. 

“Does everyone have one?” 

“Everyone old enough to volunteer their time,” Cody nodded. “So school age and older. Tor and Tal got theirs the same time you got yours.” 

“What if I don’t want all this done automatically?” 

A single eyebrow rose. “I don’t know why you’d want to deal with the hassle if you’re not going off-planet, but you can visit a credit branch and formally request all auto-transactions are halted. Get a credcard instead, or just straight cred chips, and do everything manually. But I wouldn’t.” 

“Security?” 

“Military grade, naturally.” A small, self-satisfied smirk curled over Cody’s mouth. “We occasionally have slicer competitions, and someone always tries to slice either the cred system or the classified personnel records. No one’s succeeded yet.” He snickered. “The Council likes to say if anyone ever manages to, we’ll make that person our new head of data security just on principle.” 

“Hm.” Boba leaned back, a sardonic smirk curling over his own mouth. “So much for the famous clone altruism.” 

Cody frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Boba gestured dismissively at the ‘padd. “All this helping each other out, it’s not out of the goodness of your hearts. You’re getting paid. Just like everyone else.” 

Cody’s frown deepened. “On the contrary. This,” he tapped the screen, on a deposit line, “allows us to be altruistic.” 

Boba raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “How do you figure?” 

“If everyone’s worried about keeping their bellies full and roofs over their heads first and foremost,” Cody explained patiently, “it leaves very little room for altruism, or for personal growth or higher pursuit. You can’t even fault individuals for choosing to care for themselves before others when literal starvation can be on the table. But with this system, it becomes as simple as: just be doing _something,_ and your base needs will be taken care of.” He shrugged. “If you want more, go earn it. There is no law that mandates you have to volunteer, and there are plenty of better-paying jobs. But if you’re satisfied with just a bed and full belly, which is fine, that is easily accomplished with just a few hours of simple volunteer work every ten. The state benefits by always having a ready pool of volunteers for public projects and influencing the economy via standard volunteer wages, as well as minimizing one of the major factors for criminal behavior, businesses benefit by not having to have employees they don’t need just to keep the economy afloat and customers with more financial freedom, communities benefit by getting neighbors involved with each other and supporting each other, individuals benefit by never having to worry about base need, freeing them to grander pursuit.” He shrugged again. “Altruism is easy when there’s no reason _not_ to.” 

“But what happens when they’re faced with a situation where there is no monetary advantage? When they have to pick between the right thing and eating today?” Boba demanded, intrigued despite himself. “They won’t choose altruism then.” 

“Some of them, no,” Cody conceded softly. “Like I said, you can’t fault it when the price is starvation. But the thing about doing something constantly is it becomes a habit, Boba. If an action is simply what you _do,_ what you’ve done all your life, you don’t think about it, you don’t weigh the pros and cons. You just do it. And when you keep the money out of sight,” he made a little dismissive gesture, “the vod’ike watching you don’t learn, ‘volunteer and get paid’. They learn that volunteering is simply what you do. The natural state of things. That’s why armies provide basics for their troops; so they can be focused on their jobs and perform them more effectively. The Jedi have a similar system for the same reasons.” 

Boba thought about Arreru’s palpable dismissiveness at the concept that they were getting paid for their youngling-minding, and his confusion at Boba’s surprise. Tor and Tal had never mentioned it at all. Even he had simply assumed the copies did it because it was expected, or they would get bored if they didn’t. 

Conceding the point, he glanced at the balance displayed again, thoughts veering in a different direction. “These are real credits?” 

“Republic standard credits,” Cody nodded. “You could go withdraw them all right now if you wanted.” 

Boba hummed, thoughts racing. He had never had liquid funds of his own before. Slowly, he drained his mug, then stood. “Night.” 

“Get some rest,” Cody acknowledged, drawing his ‘padd back to him. 

Thoughts whirling, Boba retreated back to his bunk, where he called up the holosite both Arreru and Cody had showed him on his own ‘padd. He pulled up his own record, staring at the simple lines of text and figures until they began to bleed together. 

He glanced at the drawer where Buir’s beskar’gam lay, and thought about Naberrie’s first offer. A suit of armor and a fast ship. 

He wondered if that was still an option. No strings attached, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Boba. Making some progress, but not there quite yet. Hope the end there wasn't too much exposition (for some reason, main exposition guy is becoming Cody's role in this story. I don't want it to be but here we are.) 
> 
> (I am also very in favor of a UBI if you can't tell)


	9. Home Is Where the Battalion Is

The next morning the question of what to do with the break was neatly answered for him when Cody received a comm during breakfast. The clone didn’t even look up from his ‘padd or move from the table, just pulling out his comm and answering on auto-pilot. The rest of the family didn’t even seem to notice, but Boba looked up from his own kaf, watching curiously. 

“Cody,” he barked, businesslike. 

“ _Wooley, sir,_ ” the little blue holo of a copy in armor, bucket tucked under his arm, replied, just as brisk and businesslike, snapping off a salute. 

Whether it was the name or the voice that caught Cody’s attention, Boba wasn’t sure, but Cody abruptly perked up, eyes turning to the holo and a small smile that Boba usually only saw directed at his family slipping onto Cody’s face. “Wooley,” he greeted again, this time much more warm and friendly as his eyes flicked up and down the clone’s body. Whatever he saw made him relax, sitting back in his chair and turning his whole attention to the holo. “What’s going on, Captain?” 

“ _With me? Nothing,_ ” the copy- Wooley, apparently- replied nonchalantly in the pure Mando’a Cody preferred with a little shrug. “ _But Juul got married._ ” 

“[Oya](http://mandoa.org)! Really?” Cody burst, a grin breaking out over his usually stoic face, and Boba was no longer the only one blatantly paying attention to the comm conversation. “About time he found someone. To who?” 

“ _Some shiny just out of EdFac, name of Val,_ ” the copy shrugged. “ _Bit of a battlefield couple, apparently. Juul wants as much of the 212th as can be there to come to the party, and for Val to petition to be inducted into the 212th._ ” 

“Well we’ll see about that,” Cody chuckled, “But we’ll be there for the party. ETA?” 

“ _Tomorrow_.” 

“Good. We’ll be there. Send me the petition when it comes in.” 

“ _Yessir. See you soon. Wooley out._ ” The holo blinked out, and Cody turned to the rest of the table. 

“Who’s up for a trip up to visit the battalion?” he announced to the enthusiastic cheers from his younger children. Arreru didn't cheer, but he did grin, and Gree huffed, rolling his eyes, but had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“I resent that,” the red-haired clone muttered teasingly. “The 212th is your battalion, not mine. The kids are at least half 41st.” 

“Whatever you say, [cyare](http://mandoa.org),” Cody chuckled, throwing an arm around his riduur and drawing him in close. Boba looked back to his kaff so he didn’t have to see them kiss, nose wrinkling. 

They didn’t bother to wait, simply finishing breakfast before everyone delved into travel preparations. Not much was needed, of course, mostly just a few changes of clothing and blacks, though Mira also insisted on bringing her favorite stuffed rancor. Within two hours of Captain Wooley’s call, they were boarding a speederbus, heading for Aloriya. 

The copies were nothing if not efficient, Boba admitted to himself. And when they decided to do something, they didn’t tiptoe about. It was admirable, he supposed. 

They were hardly the only ones boarding that speeder bus headed to the [riduurok](http://mandoa.org) party of Juul and Val. At least eight other copies on board warmly greeted Cody and his family personally, the same light orange on his armor decorating theirs. Some of them he recognized, having seen them around Di’base, including Green, his bright hair standing out against his intricately decorated armor. Most of them had children accompanying them, and even more had a companion of some sort. Boba desperately tried not to notice how many of them were paired off with other copies, both in and out of armor.

“Who’s this, Commander? A new [ad](http://mandoa.org)?” one of the copies asked excitedly when they noticed Boba next to Arreru, looking him over with interest. Boba leaned away reflexively as he was suddenly the center of attention- _again_. 

“A guest,” Cody hedged. “Naberrie asked me to look after him for a while.” 

“Oh yeah?” the copy hummed, leaning forward, their curiosity only growing. “[Aliit, vod’ika](http://mandoa.org)?” 

Boba lifted his chin, and answered firmly, “Boba Fett.” 

“Is Fett your family name or clan name?” a cadet-aged copy, maybe twelve, with their dark hair in neat braided rows, asked innocently. 

Boba froze and blinked down at the cadet, utterly floored and dimly glad his bucket was still on to hide it. “W-what?” he managed to croak out. 

“We’ve been learning about clan structure in school,” the little copy explained blithely, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him, arms crossed to rest his chin upon. “Instructor Blast says usually second names come from the clan, but sometimes your second name is different from your clan name. Like almost everyone in the 212th is Tadr’shta, but [Aliit’alor](http://mandoa.org) Cody’s family is called Alverd. So are you from Clan Fett?” 

“...no,” Boba forced out between gritted teeth. “There hasn’t been a proper Clan or House Fett in generations.” 

“Oh,” the cadet huffed, sounding a touch disappointed. “Well, what’s your Clan and House, then?” 

Boba knew the answer, of course he did. After the Resol’nare, your name was the second thing any born Mando’ade learned. It had been a long time since he introduced himself by his full name, though, and he felt every eye in the vicinity on him, curious what he might say; his tongue went heavy. 

“Alright, Crasher, back off a bit,” the copy in charge of him, apparently an ori’vod or buir in orange painted armor, lightly chastised the cadet, ignoring Crasher’s whining protest to grab the back of his shirt and pull him back into his seat. “Don’t bother him-” 

“Clan Mereel.” 

Crasher perked up, bright eyes locked on Boba and burning with curiosity. Boba hunched, but continued, feeling weirdly vulnerable as he spoke his aliit. Like they might try to refute his claim. “I am Boba Fett, of Clan Mereel. No House.” Not anymore, the [Haat Mando’ade](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/True_Mandalorians) had been dissolved long before his birth. Buir had made that much clear. 

Crasher grinned, and pressed, “Is Mereel a big clan?” 

The laugh that escaped Boba’s external speaker was harsh and bitter even to his own ears. “No. I am the last.” He turned away from Crasher’s suddenly stricken eyes, slumping down into his seat, and stared out the window without really seeing anything. 

This time, he deliberately tried not to think. 

After that, thankfully, the copies seemed to decide to leave him be. Even Tor and Tal occupied themselves with the other cadets closer to their own ages instead of bothering him, and while Arreru sat next to him, the Zygerian merely kept him company quietly. Boba tried to be annoyed at Arreru running interference, but couldn’t quite manage it. He was mostly just tiredly appreciative. 

As they approached Aloriya, Boba couldn’t help but compare it to Di’base. If Di’base felt like a slice of Ry’loth, Aloriya was like an echo of Coruscant dropped into the slate colored water; all tall, tightly packed buildings swarming with lifeforms, like a busy insect colony, all seeming to be completely unaffected by the light rain that was falling over them. There were people on foot in the tight, angular streets, in small personal speeders, larger transport vehicles, and if he wasn’t mistaken, quite a few formations of beings on jetpacks. Boba eyed them jealously. A staggered honeycomb pattern to the streets and buildings only reinforced the impression of an insect colony. 

Di’base had felt cut off from the galaxy, isolated, like any other small town. Maybe more so, with empty desert stretching every direction. This place felt distinctly more metropolitan, despite its decidedly gray, military aesthetic (or lack thereof), and Boba abruptly felt like the galaxy was back in reach despite the low clouds as he watched the stream of ships descend from and ascend into the sky from the spaceport beyond, until the view was blocked off, window filled up with towering blocky buildings. 

The shuttle docked with a barely perceptible shudder, and the passengers filed off in an orderly fashion, much the same as they had boarded, seeming to fall into a kind of informal formation, shoulder to shoulder, as they moved. Even the younglings and few non-clones did the same. Boba grimaced in his bucket as he hefted his duffel over his shoulder and fell in behind Arreru. The copies might have renounced the GAR, but the habits from the army were clearly harder to shake. Boba wasn’t sure any of the copies realized they were all lock-step to some silent beat, including the cadets. 

From there, they moved on foot despite the dreary gray rain, the loose formation of orange-painted individuals breaking off from the rest of the passengers heading towards their own destinations and moving together through the busy streets, Cody leading the way with Tor on one hand and Tal on the other, both cadets giggling and turning their faces up into the minor novelty that was the rain. Mira whined, trying to hide from the drizzle under Gree’s chin, but she was the only one that seemed to take exception to it. 

From ground-level, it was easier to identify the scattered, smaller buildings among the looming towers, as well as identify their purposes. Before, he had assumed the city was mainly infrastructure, businesses and centers of government, all supporting the spaceport, and supposed the neighboring islands were a kind of suburbs where most copies lived; but now, at closer inspection, the ratio of living space to businesses was decidedly more even, businesses and homes nearly built on top of each other in strangely synergistic patterns. 

It made sense, Boba supposed. An army hardly made much distinction between living space and work space. It was probably incredibly convenient as well. Really, it might have been a nice place, one of those places he would have itched to explore when he was younger, if not for the fact that the commonality of his Buir’s face had seemed to _increase._ It was worse than Di’base, maybe only one out of every ten faces (or voices, for those wearing a bucket) or so not a copy. At best. Boba hated it. 

They eventually turned to enter one of the living towers, Boba not able to make any distinction between it and the seemingly identical towers neighboring it, but Cody led them unwaveringly towards this one in particular. As they approached the wide entryway of the dour, fortress-like duracrete building, Boba made out over the door a large polished plaque that read in both Arubesh and below it, in Mando’a, “THE NEGOTIATOR”. Boba frowned and opened a comm channel to Arreru. 

“ _What’s with the sign?_ ” he asked. 

“ _Sign-? Oh, the building name?_ ” Arreru replied, barely even turning to look at Boba, much less break stride with the others. _“All the units housed in this block used to be stationed on or attached to the Negotiator, in one way or another. So the building was named after the ship. Most living blocks are named after the place its first inhabitants were stationed._ ” 

Boba hummed noncommittally and pushed away the morbidly curious thought wondering if there was- or would have been- a block called The Endurance, his eyes skating over the rows of smaller polished plaques lining the entryway of the building. Ship commendations, he recognized as he shook off the worst of the dampness like the others were, the younglings all squealing in surprise when at the end of the entryway large fans kicked on, removing the rest of the rainwater like a squeegee as they walked through. 

The inside of the block was still simple, the largely white-on-white, sleek architecture reminding Boba of Kamino, but it was also decidedly more lively. The first several floors appeared to be mainly shopfronts, the open layout and bank of grav-lifts in the center reminding Boba of the shopping centers that had replaced marketplaces in many large cities. This impression was only furthered by the hundreds that strolled through these levels, creating a hustle and bustle that easily drowned out any drumming of rain outside. 

Some of the copies broke away with little cries of recognition before they reached the lifts, detouring to greet others that they noticed on the way; others had to chase after curious younglings that darted away, distracted by the strange and new surroundings. Everyone they passed saluted Cody and Gree with deferential, respectful little ‘sirs’ as they passed. 

They rode the lift up to level 12- a coincidence, Boba’s aching shebs- and disembarked into a massive, open area swarming with copies, almost all of them in orange-marked armor. Honestly, if he hadn’t been sure it was impossible, and the space hadn’t lacked fightercraft, Boba might have sworn he had just stepped onto a hangar deck of a battlecruiser. Everything a gunmetal gray, a second level walkway with railing, everything spartan and rough but ruthlessly efficient and somehow perfectly orderly. Here, the only decoration was an absolutely massive ‘212’ stenciled on the far wall, positioned so that it was both perfectly readable and the first thing that caught your eye as you stepped off the grav-lift; in 212th orange, of course. 

“COMMANDER ON DECK!” 

Boba jumped at the bellow and following _crash_ as abruptly, every man snapped into attention, a resounding hush echoing over the deck. It was the hush that made Boba freeze and straighten more than anything else; to do anything else, he could tell, would draw only the worst kind of attention to himself right now and be considered disrespect of the highest order. 

Cody straightened, something about his posture sliding from Cody to Commander as he released Tor and Tal, the two cadets stepping closer to Gree, their little faces solemn but unsurprised. Even Mira was quiet and surprisingly stern-faced. This was normal, then. 

Cody folded his hands behind his back, giving a single nod. “ _As you were_ .” He didn’t raise his voice at all, his delivery almost casual, but somehow it was crystal clear throughout the room and held such _authority_ even Boba felt himself respond, relaxing at his word. Boba had to admit he was grudgingly impressed. Could Cody teach him to do that? 

Movement and sound were abruptly restored, most picking up exactly where they left off and the remainder of their traveling companions dispersing into the crowd with more calls of excitement and recognition, but all those that got close to Cody still maintained a fastidiously respectful mien. 

Commander was not just a title for him, Boba observed distantly. 

“CODY!” a voice boomed, a single clone striding out of the crowd towards Cody with none of that respect, a shit-eating grin on his face as he barrelled straight into Cody, seeming to be completely ignoring any trace of decorum, etiquette, or even common sense, as he fearlessly slammed a bear-hug around the Commander. 

Boba recognized the armor a split second before Cody returned the hug and the greeting, chuckling and shedding a bit of the Commander. “ _Su’cuy, Wooley_.” 

Further greetings were exchanged between Wooley and the rest of the Alverds, the whole clan evidently close to him, or at least familiar. Gree clasped arms with him, Mira giggled as he ruffled her curls, Tor and Tal beamed up at him and eagerly babbled at him, like they did to all older beings they liked, as he gently tapped their chins. Arreru he exclaimed proudly over, inspecting the Zygerian’s new armor and commenting how good the 212th orange looked on it, even if it was just his gauntlets, while Arreru bashfully batted away his hands and called him ba’vodu. 

Wooley gave another good-natured guffaw at Arreru’s half-hearted protests, lightly smacking his shoulder bell affectionately before finally turning to Boba, raising a curious eyebrow. “And you are?” 

Boba was getting tired of introducing himself. “Fett,” he snapped. 

The other eyebrow raised and Wooley turned back to Cody with a soft whistle. “So the rumors are true?” 

Cody shrugged nonchalantly. “ _I wouldn’t know, I don’t listen to scuttlebutt. Beneath my station, you know._ ” 

“Liar,” Wooley laughed, shaking his head, but didn’t press the matter any further. “We’ve got you in the same suite as last time. Need an escort?” 

“ _We’ll manage, thank you Captain_ ,” Cody refused, beckoning his family to follow him. “ _I’ll comm you later._ ” 

“Yessir,” Wooley snapped off a salute and disappeared into the busy deck. As he moved away, a flock of personnel falling in around him and matching his pace, one beginning to bark a report of some kind, a similar mantle of authority that Cody wore fell about the copy- conferred by the title Captain, Boba assumed. 

Cody led them through the gray hexagonal hallways that reminded Boba far too much of the Endurance, passing copies snapping off quick but crisp salutes when they passed without breaking stride, until finally they reached a door marked 5-34-B and led them inside. Inside reminded Boba rather sharply of the ship cabin he had shared with Cody and the boys on the trip from Coruscant to Cin Vehtin; compact but reasonably comfortable. One half of the room was dominated by six bunks stacked two high and six lockers, the other half split between a kitchenette-like thing and a small sitting area. 

Boba frowned at the bunks, trying to figure out the logistics- maybe Tor and Tal would share again? And Mira hardly needed a bunk to herself- when Cody turned to him and Arreru. 

“Your choice, boys. You’re both old enough to sleep in general berthing if you want to instead.” 

“I’m gonna,” Arreru immediately answered, Boba frowning in confusion. 

Cody accepted this with a small nod, then turned his attention wholly to Boba. Boba hesitated. 

“I wanna sleep in general berthing too!” Tal exclaimed, eyes bright. 

Gree didn’t even look at him as he settled Mira on a lower bunk. “No.” 

Tal physically drooped, whining, “But-” 

“Your Buir said no, Tal,” Cody reiterated, also not paying him any more attention than that, his gaze still on an increasingly confused and tense Boba. “You’re not old enough yet.” 

Oh. Boba could read between the lines enough to hear an unspoken answer to an unspoken question. Maybe not quite the question he wanted answered, but... He straightened. “ _I’ll go with Arreru._ ” 

Cody gave him an accepting nod even as Gree abruptly turned a sharp look at the back of Cody’s head, nearly glaring at him. Cody seemed to ignore it. “You both know where we are if you need us. Keep your comms up. I’ve sent a map to your comm if you need it, Boba. Arreru, make sure he knows the way, alright? Introduce him around.” 

“Lek,” Arreru chirped, nearly bouncing excitedly from the room as he slipped his bucket back on. Boba followed him more sedately, still confused. 

Arreru led him further still into the maze of hallways, the halls getting busier. As they moved, Boba re-opened his comm line to Arreru. 

“ _General berthing?_ ” he asked bluntly. 

“ _Where everyone who doesn’t rate a private berth and doesn’t have a permanent bunk with an established squad bunks_ ,” Arreru answered quickly. “ _Just pick a bunk and settle in. Oh, and be ready to be teased a lot, shinies always get bothered._ ” 

Grand. 

Arreru led him to a large room filled with bunks and lockers. Technically it was four different rooms, five if you counted the communal ‘fresher at the end of the hall, but with the lack of doors and the layouts allowing each room to flow smoothly into the next, it definitely felt like one room that happened to have some separator walls, the hallway acting as an interconnecting walkway. 

Arreru was no stranger here, even in his new armor the copies of the former 212th battalion effortlessly recognizing him and greeting him jovially. Like Wooley, they congratulated and teased him about his armor, good-natured ribbing that to Boba’s relief kept their attention at least momentarily off him. Taking advantage of the distraction, Boba slunk further into the room, scoping out a suitable bunk. 

He had been hoping to find one that was separated a bit from the other bunks, a quiet corner to have to himself, but general berthing was unfortunately packed already. There wasn’t even a pair of bunks empty, much less one with the surrounding berths empty. Boba scowled to himself in frustration. 

Eventually, in a fit of pique, he simply threw his duffel into the next empty locker he saw and climbed onto the corresponding bunk, making it up with jerky, irritated motions. It wasn’t even a bottom bunk, but to Hells with it. He wasn’t planning on spending a lot of time there anyway. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure he would be able to sleep here; the open, impersonal, nearly _public_ space was unnerving. Even worse than prison; there he had at least had a cell to himself during night hours. It would probably be noisy, too, even during sleeping hours. How any of the copies managed to sleep like this, especially during the war, was a mystery to him.

A burst of familiar laughter caught his attention, drawing his eyes back towards Arreru. The Zygerian was snickering at something a copy had said, eyes bright with amusement as he prepped a bunk for himself, unpacking his duffel into the locker beside it. A small group of copies, mostly around Arreru’s age but a few adults as well, had gathered around him, and it looked like they were all catching up, individuals taking turns babbling at length with teasing comments and laughter and questions peppering the conversation from the others as it flowed from one man to the next. 

Arreru caught his gaze, and offered him a welcoming smile and beckoning gesture. Boba frowned and shook his head slightly; he had no intention of getting in the middle of... whatever _that_ was. Whatever it was currently, it would just become another interrogation as soon as the copies learned his name. 

Arreru frowned, for a moment looking vaguely worried, before his attention was stolen again by something one of the other teenling copies said that made him break out into another bark of laughter, and in a moment Boba had been forgotten again. 

Leaving Arreru to it, his gaze roamed around the berthing from his perch up on his bunk, curious more than anything else. Despite the cookie-cutter, regular nature of the fixtures, there were splashes of hominess and personalization _everywhere_ . A set of heavily decorated armor in a locker’s armor locks, 212th orange of course; a borderline lewd poster of a twi’lek dancing girl pinned to the wall; a set of bunks that had been vandalized, the metal bars that made up the bulk of the bunk’s construction absolutely _covered_ in colorful stickis from top to bottom; a warm looking quilted blanket thrown over a bunk, added to the standard issue bedding already upon it; in the back corner, lockers rearranged to allow for two sets of bunks to be shoved together to make two double-wide bunks, the askew bedding on all four making it obvious whoever was sleeping there had been doing so for at least a night or two. Traces and hints of the men that occupied those spaces. 

Men and women, he corrected himself with mild surprise when someone in armor stopped at one of the bunks across the aisle from him, the lower bunk clearly their own, and removed their white bucket to reveal a distinctly non-Fett, female face. Her build was roughly similar to the male copies, especially in armor, and her coloring was similar with dark hair, eyes and skin, but her face was angular with a pointed chin and upturned, almond eyes, freckles scattered over her face. A tiny tattoo of some kind of curling symbol was dotted on the apex of her chin. She seemed to take no notice of him, or anyone else in the room really, setting her bucket aside on her bunk and continuing to casually de-kit her 212th orange armor as he watched, strangely fascinated. 

Once she was down to just her blacks, her more feminine hips and chest blaringly obvious now without the obfuscation of her armor’s hard planes, she reached to the back of her neck, pulling a short black braid from the neck of her blacks. She unbound her shoulder-length hair in quick, efficient motions, some tension in her severe expression releasing as her hair was released. Finally, she bent forward, allowing her hair to spill over and roughly running her fingers through the underside, the lights catching in the strands and giving them a glossy sheen. Then, in one fluid motion, she flipped it back, standing straight again and rolling her shoulders back, a small serene smile flitting about her mouth. Boba flushed. 

A two-note appreciative whistle, high then low, made him jump guiltily and turn to see a shirtless copy leaning against the neighboring bunk, grinning like a lothcat that got the cream and giving a few slow claps, his eyes roaming wolfishly over the woman. “Good show, good show!” he called, amusement in his voice. “Teasing the shinies, are we, Oma? That’s not nice, you know.” 

The woman laughed boisterously, arching an eyebrow and rolling her eyes, replying in a strangely deep voice, “You’re just jealous he’s not watching _you_ , you attention whore.” 

They both erupted into laughter. Boba’s gaze snapped to his lap, face hot and _mortified._

“Oi, no harm, shiny. You’ll get used to it.” The cheerful absolution was accompanied by a light, friendly tap to his knee, the teenling jumping at the unexpected contact from the copy, but by the time he had gathered himself enough to glare at him, the man had already turned away, moving to lean against the woman’s bunk, the two clearly dismissing him for real this time and striking up a low conversation as she began to clean her armor. 

Bit of flush still clinging to his cheeks and for some reason knocked off-balance by the strange, momentary encounter, Boba forced himself to look away from the pair, eyes resuming their roaming over the room. 

This time, his gaze focused not on the setting, but the people. While it was nowhere close to capacity, undoubtedly most everyone occupied elsewhere with their daily work as it was nearly midday now, of those who were here, none were alone. They clumped together in groups and pairs, chatting mostly, though he did spy a pair curled together on a bunk, one quietly resting while one read a datapadd, and another group playing sabacc, apparently using a collection of buttons and medals and other small baubles as betting chips. An atmosphere of heady camaraderie swirled and eddied around where Boba sat, alone, on his bunk. 

He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, and felt very lonely. 

  
  
  


“Boba.” 

Boba jerked when he heard his name called, gaze snapping toward the voice with a frown. He found Cody, in a gray Republic Naval uniform instead of his usual armor, like many of the other copies at the riddurok party. He hadn’t quite figured out the pattern to who was in armor and who wasn’t and why, yet, but his current going theory was only those who hadn’t had time to change were still in armor. Boba had lost sight of the man after the initial ceremony, when the copy known as Juul had presented the much younger but still adult copy accompanying him to Cody, introducing him as Val (both Juul and Val in armor, a data point that was confounding his theory). The newcomers’ armor was only a little scuffed, and bearing only a few stripes in pale green on the legs for decoration, a decided contrast to Juul’s heavily war and paint-marked armor, and Cody had spent several tense moments carefully examining the younger clone while the room held its breath before announcing with a wide grin Val was welcome. The attention in the room had shifted purely to the pair of riddure after that, Cody fading into the background while the party began in earnest, and Boba hadn’t seen him since. 

With Cody was another copy Boba didn’t recognize, this one in red fatigues, and his rank insignia marked him as a Sargent. While he had the basic crewcut haircut, he also had a tiny soulpatch on his chin, strangely stuttered sideburns, and a kind smile. He stood just behind Cody and to his left, Boba immediately recognizing the positioning of a subordinate supporting a superior, the man sure in his stance. 

Boba was instantly suspicious. 

Cody jerked his head, motioning for him to follow. “A word.” 

It was an instruction bordering on an order, not a request, and Boba bristled reflexively, refusal automatically jumping to his tongue. A brush against his still-armored shoulder from Elle, the teenling copy beside him, reminded him the alternative was staying here with Arreru and Arreru’s [bavodu’ade](http://mandoa.org). Elle was only one of several teenlings, both copy and not, gathered in this corner, all of them Arreru’s friends and apparently kin by some circuitous web of relations Boba hadn’t really understood in the first place and had since forgotten anyway. After several minutes of sitting there listening to increasingly awkward, stilted conversation (as usual tiptoeing around the topic of his name and origin while Arreru doggedly pretended the mythosaur in the room wasn’t there and Boba glowered in sullen silence) and he contemplated ways to duck out of the conversation without causing a scene, Boba wasn’t fool enough to look a gift nexu in the mouth. So he bit his tongue, swallowed his pride, and stood with a sharp nod, marching stiffly after the Commander and Sargent. 

Cody led them out of the rec hall the party was being held in and to the much quieter mess instead, only a short distance down the corridor. Once they were out earshot of the pumping, energetic music and raucous celebration, able to speak at conversational levels and still understand each other again, Cody turned to issue brisk introductions. 

“Jester, this is Boba. Boba, this,” he gestured to the Sargent with a faint air of pride and respect, “is Sargent Jester Athualla, one of my best men.” 

“Ok,” Boba hummed, giving the Sargent a quick once-over. “And I should care because....?” he drawled, unimpressed. 

Cody turned a faintly scolding look on him, while Jester snorted, an amused grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. Cody’s intense kaf eyes bored into his own, but Boba lifted his chin in response, refusing to be cowed or take back the comment. “Jester here is something like the company expert on... integration into unwilling units. Considering your past school quarter,” Boba scowled as he abruptly figured out what this was about, but didn’t bother to interrupt, Cody continuing on blithely, “I think you could benefit from his advice.” 

“Great,” he muttered scathingly, making sure to make his opinion on the matter clear in his tone. “Fan-kriffin’-tastic.” 

Cody opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind, shaking his head instead and flashing a look Boba couldn’t quite read at Jester before marching off, leaving them alone. 

Jester shook his head in turn, apparently amused, before turning that kind smile on Boba. The smile never faltered, but his sharp eyes were clearly sizing him up in turn as they flickered over him. 

“Do you like kaf?” he finally broke the silence. 

Boba blinked, thrown, both by the question and the use of Basic. Automatically, he switched languages. “What?” 

“Kaf,” he repeated patiently. “Do you drink it?” 

“... yeah?” 

Jester gave an approving nod. “Let’s get kaf then.” With that, he spun on his heel, casually wandering over to the drinks station. Bemused, Boba followed. 

As they settled at a table, kaf in hand, Boba scowled as he realized Jester was doing the same thing Healer To-mae did; putting him at ease with familiar routine and warm drinks. Mood soured, he slumped on the bench, leveling a glare at the copy sitting across from him, who raised an eyebrow in turn. 

"So Cody decided I need more than one shrink?" he bit out acerbically. 

A faint expression of surprise drifted over Jester's face. "Why do you think I'm a therapist?" he asked curiously. 

Boba gestured to the kaf mugs. "Healer To-mae does this trick too. Using drinks and snacks and [osik](http://mandoa.org) to lull her patients into complacency." He leaned forward in his seat, sneering at the copy. "It won't work on me." 

Jester met his glare with an unruffled shake of his head and another amused snort, his small, kind smile never faltering. “Not bad deductive reasoning. Only problem is I’m not a therapist.” 

Boba slumped back in his seat, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “... oh.” 

This time, Jester outright laughed. He seemed like the type that laughed a lot. Probably where he got his name, Boba guessed. “If you wanted to know what my specialization is, all you had to do was ask. I’m a Holodata Systems Engineer with Athualla Shipping Company, primarily affiliated with the cargo vessel _Kaliida_. The only ones that call me Sargent anymore are my 212th vode. And I suggested we get kaf because I was thirsty and it seemed like a good icebreaker.” He took a leisurely sip of his kaf, then asked bluntly, “Are you always this combative?” 

Boba’s only answer was a scowl. 

Apparently that was eloquent enough, because Jester hummed thoughtfully, nodding like he had spoken. “No wonder you’re having so many fights.” He took another sip, then asked, “Do you want to be fighting that much? Surely you have something better to do?” His head cocked to the side curiously. “If you just want to improve your hand-to-hand skills, I’m sure Di’Base EdFac has a couple different courses and clubs for that.” 

Boba bristled. “Who says I need to improve?” he snarled. 

The eyebrow Jester raised was distinctly unimpressed. “Your one-on-one score is a matter of public record.” The flush clinging to Boba’s cheeks darkened, and Jester raised his other eyebrow. “That’s a mean losing streak you’ve got going there. 0-15.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. 

Jester raised his hands in surrender with a shrug. “Alright, alright. Still, you haven’t answered my question, and I’m really very curious now.” 

“Which one?” 

“Do you _want_ to be fighting that much?” Jester patiently reiterated. “I would have thought it would be exhausting.” 

Boba looked down at his kaf with a frown. It was, a bit. “They keep challenging me.” 

“Do you know why?” 

He rolled his eyes, leaning forward to fold his arms on the table and then slump on top of them. “Because I’m Boba Fett.” 

“Well what does that have to do with anything?” 

Boba frowned up at Jester, not rising from his slumped position. “It has everything to do with everything.” 

“How?” the older copy pressed, a hint of genuine confusion in his tone. Boba’s frown deepened. 

“My Buir is the Original, and I’m his chosen son. The _only_ Fett clone that can claim that. And besides that, my... history. During the war.” He grimaced, looking away. “There’s lots of reasons for them to want to fight me.” 

This seemed entirely rational and self-explanatory to him, but still Jester looked unconvinced as he frowned lightly over his kaf mug. “You know your actions on the _Endurance_ aren’t exactly common knowledge, right?” he inquired archly. “Most Vode don’t know you’re responsible for what happened on the _Endurance._ Both the Senate and the Jedi Council tried to keep the entire thing quiet as possible. Hells, _I_ didn’t even know until Commander Cody briefed me ten minutes ago.” 

Boba froze. “...what?” 

“Yeah,” Jester shrugged. “Something about being bad for morale or something. I think it was more likely no one wanted to deal with the political clusterkriff that would have followed the public treatment of a twelve-year like a war criminal. Sounds like they’ve been having enough trouble with the legal clusterkriff. Especially now that Naberrie’s involved.” 

The former Sargent paused to take another sip of his kaf, looking utterly serene and like he hadn’t just tipped Boba’s whole karking worldview on its ear. 

“I’m still the son of Fett,” he eventually managed to force out, voice strained. 

“It matters less who your father was,” Jester hummed back. “And more the father you will be. While your buir would have made them cautious to start, it is not insurmountable.” 

Boba scoffed. “Not in this case.” 

“If you say so,” Jester hummed, looking as unconvinced as ever. Boba rolled his eyes again. Jester wasn’t there, he couldn’t know any better than he did. Thankfully, the copy seemed to drop it, asking instead, “What have you been doing to minimize that and integrate, then?” 

Finally Boba sat up, bristling. “I will _not_ denounce my Buir,” he snarled. 

“Didn’t say you had to,” Jester shot back. 

“And who said I want to integrate, anyway?” 

“You did.” 

That brought him up short again, forcing him to seethe through his teeth, “...what?” 

“Your armor,” Jester calmly explained, gesturing casually to Boba’s chestplate. “Why would you wear GAR armor if you don’t want to be counted among the Vode?” 

Boba grit his teeth, not quite able to answer. Jester sighed. 

“Look. It _can_ happen. None of your age-mates are going to make it easy on you, and there are going to be a _lot_ of days when it feels like it’s not worth it. But you can do it, if you really want to. The effort has to come from you, Boba. And when you’re ready to put in that effort,” he shrugged with a thoughtful little frown, “I’ll be here if you still need to talk.” 

“How magnanimous,” Boba bit out, making sure he oozed sarcasm. “Any other pearls of wisdom you want to cast before me? Sir?” 

Something sad and pitying flashed in Jester’s eyes, making Boba want to snarl, but before he could do anything, the copy was standing, mug still in hand. “Nope. Just think about it, kid.” And then he was gone. 

  
  
  


Jester Athualla frowned to himself as he walked into Commander Cody’s office, mulling over the conversation he had just had with Boba. Dan was about the same age, now; only a year or so younger. He liked to think Dan, and increasingly Anyeh these days, had given him a lot of practice talking to moody teenagers- Ash seemed to think his patience with them was boundless- but it seemed there were still ones too moody for even him. 

He was unsurprised to find Cody wasn’t alone, Commander Gree also there, both Commanders studiously ignoring each other from opposite sides of the room while tension crackled in the air. 

He wasn’t sure what he had just walked into, but it probably wasn’t something he wanted to be in the middle of. Partly from self-preserving habit, partly from genuine respect, Jester saluted. “Sirs.” 

“Jester,” Cody greeted him warmly enough, nodding to acknowledge the salute, though his face was still set in a frustrated frown. “How’d it go?” 

Jester huffed, slumping down into the chair in front of Cody’s desk. “That kid has a chip on his shoulder the size of a battleship and an attitude to match.” 

“Ha,” Commander Gree scoffed irritably, even worse than Boba had been. “Tell us something we don’t know.” 

Commander Cody closed his eyes, expression becoming pinched. “Gree.” 

Commander Gree flashed him a sullen, baleful look, but subsided. Jester bit back a comment on how much in common the 41st Commander seemed to have with Boba, sensing it wouldn’t be quite welcome at the moment. 

Instead, he cautiously continued, “He needs a different outlet than one-on-one. I think it’s just making things worse at this point.” He frowned. “Kid needs to learn how to pick his battles. He’s going to kill himself trying to fight them all. And he’s never going to make any progress unless he commits to making it, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” 

"That's what I said," Commander Gree grumbled under his breath. 

"Commander," Cody snapped, eyes opening to glare at Gree and Jester wishing he was anywhere else right now, "Your concerns and objections have been duly noted. I will not be sending him back to prison, end of discussion. Either drop it or leave." 

Gree promptly stood, thunder on his face, and turned to the door. 

"No, wait," Jester surprised even himself by speaking, but didn't take it back when both officers turned to him with identical disgruntled frowns. Much more confidently than he felt, he continued, "If the point of this is to rehabilitate and integrate him into the Vode, then he's going to need you, Commander Gree. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but he’s going to need you. Even more than he's going to need Commander Cody." 

"I don't follow," the red-haired Commander grunted. 

"When he finally does commit, he's going to need a lot of support, it's true," Jester shrugged, "but if he's only surrounded by people who are rooting for him to succeed, then no one's ever going to believe he's genuine. He's going to need those who don't believe in him to be there too, holding him to the standard, motivating him to prove himself, and willing to enforce consequences if needed. You're in a prime position to do that. If Commander Cody is going to be his proponent, he's going to need you to be his opponent, or the whole thing is moot." 

The sullen, mulish look on both Commanders slowly gave way to reluctant thoughtfulness as he spoke, and Jester fought the urge to preen. Arguing with Dan had given him an edge after all. 

Epiphany dawned on Commander Cody’s face. “You want Gree to do for Boba what Kad and Ori did for you.” 

“Exactly, sir,” Jester nodded. He raised an eyebrow at Commander Gree. “As long as you think you can be fair, Commander.” 

“Fair?” Gree gritted out between his teeth, apparently curious despite himself. 

“You don't have to help him. But you do have to let him fall on his own. No tripping him up, no setting him up to fail. If you do, you’ll just feed into the persecution complex he’s got going, and sell both him and you short. You’ve got to be willing to acknowledge his honest achievements, and judge him only by his actions going forward. Not forgiving or forgetting, but...” Jester spread his hands, mulling over his own words even as he spoke them. “[Cin vehtin](http://mandoa.org).” 

The Commanders looked at each other, arguing in a silent language of body language and glances that no one but them could ever decipher. Jester was familiar with the broad strokes, having engaged in it himself countless times with Knaps and Ash, and even though he couldn’t determine the exact words between them, he could see the moment Gree capitulated and turned away with a dark scowl. But he didn’t leave.

“Cin vehtin,” Gree grumbled reluctantly. The admission sounded like it had been beaten from him. 

“Cin vehtin,” Cody agreed. Tired. Too tired to be triumphant. 

Sensing his work was done, at least for now, Jester nodded and stood, slipping from the room and leaving the riddure in privacy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are not as serene in the Alverd marriage as they may seem...
> 
> A lot of references to Reulte's Slick's Squad series in this one; both Scars and Voiceless Choiceless. If you still haven't checked out that series, do, it's amazing. Ori, Kad, Ash Athualla, Knaps Athualla, Dan Athualla and Anyeh Athualla are all their characters. Everyone else is either cannon or mine. 
> 
> (PS if you're having trouble imagining Oma, basically imagine a buff Lucy Liu. Yum.)


	10. Conversations and a Kidnapping

After Jester took his leave, Boba spent a while just sitting in the mess, turning the older man’s words over in his mind and watching his kaf go cold. 

A sharp beeping startled him out of his thoughts and drew a frown of annoyance from a copy sitting nearby attempting to read a datapadd as they ate. Boba ignored them, fumbling for his holocomm. 

Healer To-mae popped up in miniature, her armored form curled in her usual chair and the whole scene washed out in blue. “ _Su cuy’gar, Boba,_ ” she greeted with her usual measure of reserved warmth. “ _Is this a good time for our session?_ ” 

Boba blinked, startled. Had it been two days? Damn, traveling messed with his sense of time. “Did Cody not tell you I’m not in Di’base right now?” 

The corners of her eyes crinkled a bit in amusement. “ _Of course he did. Unlike you, Cody is responsible._ ” She chuckled at his scoff and eyeroll. “ _But I don’t see why that means we can’t have a session. This is mental therapy, not physical.”_

Point. “I don’t know how much time I have before someone comes and drags me away.”

“ _A short one, then,_ ” she shrugged. 

“... Ok. Let me just find somewhere a little more private than the mess. Pare sol.” She nodded, and he put the call on hold, taking a moment to dispose of his kaff before moving back toward the barracks and his bunk in general berthing. Like he expected, the room was empty, everyone either still at the riddurok party or at duty. He reactivated the call as he settled on his bunk. “Ok. Go ahead.” 

Evidently she had used the time while she was on hold, because now she was curled up in her chair with a mug, sipping from it. “ _How was your trip?_ ” she asked. Boba relaxed at the blunt but neutral question. 

“It was a speederbus,” he shrugged, reclining against the wall. “Nothing exciting. Didn’t even see any turbo wookies or skydivers.” 

To-mae’s eyes crinkled at the corners again. “ _Shame.”_

They chit-chatted for a bit like they usually did in the beginning of his sessions, but Boba knew she could tell his mind was elsewhere. Mando that she was, it didn’t take her long to address it. 

“ _What’s on your mind, Boba?”_ she asked, thin eyebrow arching. “ _It’s been a while since you were this quiet._ ” 

Boba grimaced. “Nothing, I just...” he trailed off and sighed, deflection dying a pitiful death on his tongue at her exasperated frown. “I had a conversation with one of the copies today. Not long before you commed, actually.” 

“ _You have conversations with the clones every day. I would have thought the novelty had worn off by now._ ” 

“Har har.” He rolled his eyes, To-mae snorting unrepentantly. “It’s mostly worn off. I just... he said some things that are still bothering me.” 

“ _Bothering you how, Boba?”_ she inquired, a concerned tilt to her head. _“Can you define it a little more?_ ” 

Boba looked down at his hands, running his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his gauntlet. “Healer, what does my decision to wear GAR armor say to you? What would it say if you did not know me?” 

Her expression went thoughtful, and she took a moment to consider before answering, slow but firm. “ _It is not hyperbole to say that armor,_ ” she mused, “ _is both protection, and expression of the soul beneath. Simply wearing it declares your adherence to the Six, and indicates your willingness to be battle-ready. Not too scuffed, but well cared for; were you older, that could be read as a pampered coward, who pays only lip service to the Six, perhaps[Cin’vehtin](http://mandoa.org) if one was feeling generous, or as an untested but diligent youth. In your case, obviously the third. The fact that it is GAR style says that you count yourself as Vode, or at least Vode’ade, which does imply a few expectations about your behavior, but anyone that has even a passing experience with the Vode would know better than to assume too much just from that. Lack of color and aliik reinforces the untested conclusion, and implies a kind of... uncertainty. Or newness. _ ” She shrugged, pausing to take another sip of whatever was in her mug. Her preference between kaf, tea, and a spiced hot cider native to her homeworld changed according to her whims, so it was a gamble which was in the cup. “ _You are a young man, still growing into himself, not yet committed to anything in particular save perhaps the vague, overarching ideal of the Vode’ade. And your armor clearly reflects that._ ” 

He waited for her to finish, mind latching on to one part in particular. “What kind of things about my behavior would it imply?” 

Her eyes suddenly went sharp, and he could practically see her piece a few things together. “ _To a Mando’ade, or to a Vode’ade?_ ” she questioned in turn. 

Boba shrugged, trying for nonchalant and probably failing. “Both. Either.” 

“ _Hmm._ ” She thought again for another moment. “ _Well. I cannot speak for the Vode’ade, as I am not one of them. But to a Mando’ade..._ ” she shrugged. “ _It would imply a character that is selfless, loyal, determined, and disciplined. A person that has great unity with his people. It might also suggest Rupublic-leaning loyalties, but that becomes more and more of a gamble every day. A warrior that carries the legacy of the last Mand’alor with him.”_ He looked up sharply at her oblique mention of his Buir- they had yet to poke that particular lothcat in his sessions- and she shrugged again, actually nonchalant. “ _If you are the type given to acknowledge Fett, anyway.”_

Interesting, but not what he was looking for. Boba scowled in frustration, looking down at his gauntlet again. 

“ _Have you tried just asking one of the Vode’ade?_ ” she sighed, exasperated now. “ _Arreru has never refused to answer you before._ ” 

“I can’t go running to Arreru every time I have a question,” he snipped back irritably. “I have to be able to figure it out for myself, too.” Not to mention he was sure Arreru would try to soften the answer if it wasn’t kind, which wouldn’t be helpful at all right now, and he didn’t know anyone else at Di’base EdFac he trusted enough to ask. 

“ _Not a bad goal, but there is no shame in asking someone who knows better than you. We’ve been over this, Boba. Let the pilots pilot.”_

He grunted vaguely, once again contemplating the edge of his gauntlet. Healer To-mae sighed. 

“ _What brought this on? What exactly did this Vod say about your armor?_ ” 

“He...” Boba gripped his own wrist, shifting where he sat and still not meeting her eye. “He implied that I was causing the cadets to call one-on-ones. Provoking them. With my armor. Because I was claiming to be one of them or something.” 

“ _Hmm. He might have a point, you know._ ” 

“How would he know?” he growled in a frustrated burst. “He’s not there! He’s not a politician or something that requires him to understand population psyche. He’s a karking data engineer at the spaceport!” 

“ _But he is Vode, Boba. That will lend him insights neither you nor I have.”_ Her lips pursed thoughtfully. 

Boba threw up his hands. “Isn’t the whole point of me coming here in the first place to be one of them?!” 

“ _No,_ ” she responded, smoothly but firmly. She shifted forward, leaning closer to him, and blindly set aside her mug out of the holo. Her now free hands clapped onto her thighs in a commanding posture, her intense gaze holding his like a tractor beam. “ _The point is to have you somewhere safe and secure and not prison while your case is being tried back on Coruscant. Everything else is up to you, Boba Fett. Others involved in your situation might have grander designs and goals in mind placing you here, but I don’t, and I’m here to tell you: how you react to what’s happening to you, what you choose to take on board, is up. To . You. End of discussion.”_

The silence in the wake of her speech echoed in Boba’s ears and stretched for several minutes. He groped for something, anything, to say, and came up blank. 

Finally, she sat back again, relaxing a bit but not enough to be sanguine again. “ _Just think about it. In the meantime, I have an idea I want to run past you. Call it a rhetorical._ ” 

“Shoot,” Boba sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. For all that they were only halfway through a normal length session, he felt exhausted. Raw. 

“ _Do you think any of the other clones could identify you at Boba Fett if you did not identify yourself as such?_ ” she asked, thoughtful and curious lilt to her voice. “ _Besides the ones that you’ve already introduced yourself to, of course._ ” 

He frowned, confused on where she was going with this. “...no. No one did before.” 

Her eyebrow quirked, obviously noting that comment, but didn’t pursue it for the moment. “ _Then I propose an experiment. You should go try to make some new friends while you’re there in Aloriya. Some people you’ve never met before. But don’t do it as Boba; make up some other name for yourself, and see what comes of it. Perhaps you will gain some insight. If not into what the Vode’ade think of you, then at least into what you want from your experience here on Cin Vehtin._ ” 

Boba opened his mouth. Closed it again. That was a thought. 

“Boba, you in here?” 

He jerked towards Arreru’s voice, finding the Zygerian in the doorway, looking relieved. “Oh good, we were all wondering where you’d gotten off to,” he sighed. 

_Cody sent me to find you,_ he mentally translated. 

Arreru started to speak some more, then seemed to abruptly realize Boba wasn’t technically alone. “Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt?” 

“ _We were nearly finished,_ ” Healer To-mae chuckled, shaking her head. “ _I think that’s a good place to end this session, Boba. Think about what we’ve talked about, eh?_ ” 

“I will,” he grumbled. “Ret’.”

“ _K’oyacyi, Boba Fett._ ” With that, the holo winked out. Boba turned it off, and gave himself a moment to pack the session away for later consideration before turning back to Arreru. 

Arreru flashed him a smile. “Ready to go back to the party?” 

He would honestly rather eat a blaster. “Sure.” 

  
  
  


The riddurok party went long into the night, remaining a mostly demure affair until it was late enough that all younglings had been whisked away to bed, someone taking that as permission to break out the hard liquors. Boba eyed the strong-smelling cups with distaste and wariness. Not for the first or, he suspected, the last time, he wondered if he was the only one who remembered the terms of his parole. 

The next morning, it was easy to tell who had imbibed just a little too much by who was wincing at loud sounds and bright lights and who was mocking the former with light-hearted jeers. Lacking anything else to do, Boba strapped on his armor and followed Arreru like usual. He was almost disappointed when all Arreru did was eat breakfast in the 212th mess and then head to a smaller, cozier room nearby the recreation rooms that turned out to be the battalion’s youngling center. 

This youngling center was smaller than the usual one they volunteered at back in Di’base, more geared toward younger children and babies, the oldest youngling he noticed about six, which meant for the first time he saw no youngling copies. There were a few that bore familial resemblance to them, in the eyes or hair or nose, but it was obvious they were results of natural pairings rather than clones. The raucous younglings were all being watched over attentively by a trio of adult copies, all in complimentary orange painted armor.

Mira was also there already, and she lit up when she caught sight of Arreru, bounding up to him and letting him scoop her up with an excited squeal. The cadets were nowhere to be seen, though, and neither were Gree or Cody, which was interesting. They didn’t leave Mira alone often. 

They spent several hours with the younglings, playing and reading and working on messy craft projects. Arreru was, as usual, immediately popular. Boba had no idea what it was about the soft-spoken Zygerian that drew in younglings like moths to flame, but it appeared to be damn near universal. Boba found himself supervising and assisting with the building (and inevitable re-building) of an ambitious tower from painted wood blocks. At around mid-morning, one of the copies left and returned with a small snack for each youngling, then once the snacks were eaten, dimmed the lights, the five of them working more or less in tandem to herd the younglings into makeshift bedrolls and cozy heaps to take naps. 

Most of the minders ended up with at least one youngling curling up on their lap instead, bedding down seemingly with no regard for the hard plains of their armor. Arreru was approached by several of the younglings, but the one that won out the coveted spot was a stubby-lek’ed Twi’lek youngling, maybe two years, two more younglings curling up on either side of Arreru and quite firmly pinning him to his spot sitting against the wall. Boba resisted the urge to snicker as he settled beside him, a near-human boy with a ruddy tint to his skin between them. 

“Or’vod! Or’vod!” Mira chirped, stumbling over, pausing when she registered Arreru’s lap was already occupied. The Twi’lek youngling sleepily glared at her, and Mira glared right back, clenching little fists. “My or’vod!” she snapped, stamping a little foot. 

The youngling simply stuck out his tongue and snuggled deeper into Arreru’s arms. Boba was pretty sure Mira was about to explode in indignant rage. 

Arreru chuckled, patting the kid’s lekku, before turning to his little sister, reaching out to cup a hand over the back of her head and pull her into a comforting [Keldabe](http://mandoa.org). “Your ori’vod,” he affirmed gently, nuzzling noses with her with a soft hum. “But you and I can cuddle anytime, right? It’s good to share with those that might not have any, right, Mir’ika?” 

The fight drained out of her as he spoke, until the glare was gone and all that was left was a grumpy pout. Her eyes swept over the room, obviously looking for another place to bed down. The show apparently over, Boba leaned against the wall and let his eyes slip closed. Might as well catch a nap himself. 

A weight flopped onto his lap, making him jerk and eyes snap open. Mira didn’t even meet his gaze, though, simply squirming about until she had apparently found a comfy position and falling still, tucked up against his plackart. 

Boba stared down at the small green youngling, at a loss. 

Arreru's chuckle made his gaze snap to laughing brown eyes. "Guess you've been around long enough for her to claim you," he observed quietly. 

"I've only been around three months," Boba protested, flustered. 

Arreru shrugged. "That's a long time for little kids," he observed softly. "Proportionately, that's a big chunk of her life." 

“It’s true,” one of the copies, Dahl if Boba remembered correctly, added, also quiet to not disturb napping younglings. “Younglings are always the first to accept a new addition to the family. The younger the quicker.” 

Boba huffed, grumbling more to himself than anything else, “Not an Alverd.” Regardless, his hand rested on her, gently rubbing her back. She curled closer to him with a sleepy little mumble. 

The copy flashed him a wryly amused look. “Mm-hm. Whatever you say, vod’ika.” 

Giving it up for the moment, Boba closed his eyes again, settling back against the wall and intentionally relaxing his muscles, trying to find rest for himself. He pretended not to notice when Arreru tipped to the side, his backplate scraping lightly against the wall, until their pauldrons touched, resting there. It wasn’t his business if Arreru couldn’t be bothered to sit up straight. 

And if he leaned his own weight ever so slightly against Arreru in turn? Well, that was his own business. 

As they sat there in the dim light, peaceful quiet curling around him and strangely comfortable, Boba found himself mulling over his conversations with Jester and To-mae. Allowing his eyes to slit open, he glanced at Arreru from the corner of his eye, then down to Mira. 

Maybe they both had points. 

Naptime only lasted an hour or so, then the lights came back up and it was playtime again. Boba and Arreru stayed until midday, when the three adult minders swapped out with replacements- two copies, one in armor and one in spacer’s leathers, and a female Pantoran in armor- and he and Arreru apparently being replaced with a pair of teenling Zabrak girls, neither in armor but both bearing sheathed knives on their belts and a cuff of white and orange plastoid on their right biceps, the weapons and cuffs marking them as 212th ade as clearly as full armor. The girls nodded cordially to them in acknowledgement as they passed; Arreru nodded back, but Boba hesitated to return the gesture. He was pretty sure it wasn’t meant for him anyway. But they both frowned lightly at him, so reluctantly, he returned the nod; their expressions eased. 

Duty finished, they went back to the mess to grab lunch. They spotted Cody also there, holding some kind of court over mess hall pre-prepped foods and kaf, though Gree and the cadets were all still missing. Arreru waved, Cody acknowledging them with a small nod, but they didn’t join him, instead Arreru leading him to a table occupied by several of the same teenlings from the party last night. Boba grimaced but followed, not wanting to sit alone, or worse, with Cody. 

He picked at his lunch, doing his best to tune out the meandering chatter of Arreru and his bavodu’ad, and they ignored him in turn. Instead, he thought about the interaction with the Zabrak girls, mulling it over. He had given up on his food and turned to nursing his kaf when he was startled by the twin shouts of the cadets, excitedly calling, “Ori’vod!” and crashing into Arreru. 

“Hey!” he greeted them warmly, the teenlings around him shifting to make room for his vod’ike to scramble onto the bench on either side of him. “Did you two already eat?” 

“Uh-huh,” Tor nodded, but stole a bite from Arreru’s tray anyway. Arreru rolled his eyes, making the cadets giggle.

“Arreru.” 

Gree approached from the direction of Cody’s table, apparently having checked in with him first, something in his brow more relaxed and, dare Boba say, _happy_ than usual. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Lek, Buir. Just a sec.” He quickly gathered up his tray, rising, and looked over to Boba. “You coming?” 

Gree’s mouth pinched. 

Well. It was clear he wasn’t welcome to... whatever they were going to do. Boba felt his mood sour. “I’m good.” He didn’t miss the way Gree’s mouth relaxed, turning his mood blacker. 

“If you’re sure.” He wasn’t sure at all, actually, but whatever it was Arreru and Gree were going to do, he wasn’t going to subject himself to Gree’s stony cold shoulder to do it if he didn’t have to. He nodded. Arreru shot him a concerned glance, but left with Gree, bussing his tray on the way out. The cadets stayed, babbling at their bavodu’ade for a few minutes, the teenlings listening with amused patience as they detailed what they had been up to that morning; apparently after a morning workout and breakfast with Gree, Cody and Mira, Gree had taken them to visit the 41st battalion, where they had visited their aliit there. 

The 41st was Gree’s old battalion, Boba recalled. That made sense then; he was probably holding a similar court there that Cody was holding here, since they were both CO’s of their respective battalions. He hadn’t quite realized what that meant practically for Arreru and Mira and the cadets, but in retrospect, it made sense. 

Didn’t do anything to improve his mood, but at least he knew he wasn’t missing out on much. 

Giving up on lunch entirely, Boba bussed his tray and left, deciding to head to the range for some much needed blaster practice. Maybe work out some more of his still muddled thoughts. 

Unfortunately, the range was not as relaxing as he had hoped. He gave up after only a half hour, his thoughts going nowhere but just distracting enough to keep him from concentrating properly, his aim just off enough to be infuriating. He left in an even fouler mood than before, stalking through the corridors. He needed a walk. 

He found himself on the... flight deck, for lack of a better term, busy as usual. His eyes alighted on the lifts. He paused. 

He wasn’t allowed to leave unsupervised... was he? Cody had never said one way or the other. Would the copies try to stop him? 

Boba squared his shoulders, lifting his chin. He was Boba Fett, and he would go where he wanted. With a confidence he didn’t quite feel, he marched across the deck, hitting the button to call a lift. Not a single copy even seemed to notice him. His gut tightened as the lift glided down to the main floor, something like anxiety writhing there. 

He stumbled out of the lift onto the echoing, bright shopping level and wandered for a bit, still wary and apprehensive. He paused at a small Naboo style cafe, buying a bottled drink, just to prove he could. He half expected Cody or Gree or some copy in 212th armor to accost him any second and drag him back to the 12th level, alerted somehow by the transaction; but the counter girl just smiled and handed him the drink with a chirped ‘Enjoy!’ Slowly, it became apparent no one was coming, and he relaxed. 

Now what? 

He had paused in a kind of rest area populated with padded benches and potted plants, sipping at his drink and considering his next move, when a voice broke into his thoughts. 

“Whoa, bad vibes alert!” 

Boba’s lip turned up in a snarl, reflexively glaring at the clone voice. He was met by the sight of a copy a few years older than himself in plain white armor, hair shaved down into a single low strip and colored a bright blue that matched his mutated eyes, swooping in with purpose. Boba reflexively jerked, stepping back, but the copy was quick, crowding him. 

“Initiating anti-bad vibes protocols!” he announced seriously, and before Boba could do anything, his hand had lifted, heading straight for his face. Boba flinched. 

“Boop!” 

A single fingertip tapped the tip of his nose, barely even feelable. The copy leaned back, hands on his hips now, a broad, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. Boba blinked. 

What the actual _fek?_

A roar of laughter snapped his brain back online, Boba looking over the grinning copy’s shoulder to spy a pair of copies the same age as the grinning one, hanging on each other’s armored shoulders as they laughed, barely managing to prop each other up. 

“Sweet Force, your _face!_ ” one, this one with his hair just long enough to need a bob-tail, managed to wheeze out. 

Boba glowered at them, then at the grinning one, whose smile had begun to fade. How dare they mock him- 

“Oh no, level one protocols were unsuccessful!” the grinning one gasped dramatically before Boba could even breathe a syllable of his chagrin, his face falling into a distressed frown and hands clapping to his own cheeks. “Initiating level two!” 

“Wha-” 

Boba yelped as in a single, fell swoop, the blue-haired and eyed copy darted in, wrapping his arms around Boba’s waist (effectively pinning his forearms down in the process) and lifting him off his feet, nearly crushing Boba to his chest like a youngling with a comfort plush. 

“Ack! Put me down, you [di’kut](http://mandoa.org)!” he shouted, cheeks flushing with anger and embarrassment as he struggled. The other two laughed harder. 

“Never!” the blue haired one declared, still dramatic and beginning to sway from side to side, a pout of determination on his face. Honestly, did he think he was a bad holo star? “We will get through this, vod! Togetherrrr!” 

“What?!” 

Finally, one of the laughing pair- the one with the bobtail- managed to pull himself together enough to speak through his peals of laughter, wiping at his eyes. “Just smile for him, vod. Or he’ll initiate level three.” 

Boba grit his teeth. He would not _smile_ for this di’kut. He kicked at the blue one’s shins, rewarded only with the dull thunks of plasteel on plasteel. “What’s level three?” he snarled, squirming. Ka’ra, this copy was dumb but his grip was like beskar. 

“He’ll start singing the ‘bad vibes go’ song.” 

Boba stilled, staring at them in undisguised horror. The _what?_

“And if level three fails,” the copy continued, still grinning, “We go to level four, hoth chocolate with whipped sweet cream. Still being hugged, of course. Level five-” 

“How many levels are there?” Boba breathed out, blanching, almost afraid to know. 

“Twelve.” The copy’s grin was entirely too amused. “Trust me vod, he’s far more stubborn than you.” 

“You’re bluffing,” he weakly forced out. 

“Am I?” he drawled. 

“Bad viiibes go!” the blue haired copy began to caterwaul, loudly and off-key. Boba winced. “Get out that door! Go on noow! You’re not welcome- ow!” 

Boba blinked against the stars exploding in his vision, cursing. The copy had managed to move his head at just the wrong time, making Boba’s [kov’nyn](http://mandoa.org) land not on his nose, but on the copy’s chin instead. 

It was rather painful, and Boba would probably bruise later, but at least he shut up.

The onlooking copies dissolved back into laughter. “You deserved that, vod,” one of them called, Boba unsure if they were addressing him or the blue-haired copy still holding him aloft. The copy pouted up at him. Boba sneered down his nose in return. 

“He is a stubborn one, isn’t he?” the third copy- this one made distinct by his _lack_ of distinction, ironically- mused aloud, still grinning like a buffoon as he and the bobtailed one finally got ahold of themselves enough to advance, the third crossing his arms and raising a brow as he crowded in to get a closer look at Boba’s face. 

Boba startled, his attention suddenly arrested by a detail of the copy’s face. “Wha- are you wearing _eyeliner?_ ” 

“Mm-hm,” the copy hummed, not even hesitating or pausing in his own examination of Boba. “I can teach you to put it on if you want.” He finally met Boba’s eyes, flashing a cheeky smirk. “This,” he gestured to his lined eyes, “is pretty basic, but we can get real fancy with it. Have some fun.” 

The blue-eyed one inhaled excitedly, eyes lighting up. “Makeover night?!” 

“What?!” Boba yelped, his struggles renewing with vigor. “No-!” 

“He _is_ a stubborn one, isn’t he? You know, B-Li,” the bobtailed one butted in, trying for a resigned frown but not quite able to hold back his mischievous grin, “I think we need to go straight to level seven with this one.” 

“You think?” Eyeliner hummed thoughtfully, his sabacc face much better than Bobtail’s, though his eyes still gleamed with the same mischievousness, immediately making Boba worried. 

“Seconded!” Blue cheered, any hurt from Boba’s attack apparently forgotten as he grinned again. “Bring it in, vode!” 

Eyeliner and Bobtail didn’t wait for any further invitation, closing in with identical wide grins. Boba attempted to lurch back. Blue didn’t even wobble. “Nononono-!” 

Apparently level seven was group hugs, the two flanking him so he was surrounded from three different directions. Boba twisted around, doing his level best to glare at each of them equally. Every single one of them merely grinned serenely back. 

“Where’s your squad, vod’ika?” Bobtail chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t have a squad!” Boba grunted, thrashing about again and getting precisely nowhere. He wasn’t so caught up in his struggle that he missed the loaded look the three exchanged, though. His eyes narrowed. 

“BAD VIBES GOOO!” Blue began to caterwaul again, and Boba took a deep breath, preparing to [kov’nynir](http://mandoa.org) him _again,_ and this time by the ka’ra he wouldn’t miss _-_

“Guys!” yet another copy burst from the crowd in a surprisingly uncoordinated flail of limbs, nearly shaking with excitement. “Guysguysguysguysguys!” 

All three of them turned to look at the uncoordinated one, Blue pausing, but it was Bobtail that answered, disentangling himself from the group hug and clapping a steadying hand on the newcomer’s shoulder instead. “Whoa, take a breath Deet. What’s up?” 

The newcomer- Deet, apparently- straightened, took a carefully controlled breath, and then blurted, “Yettero did it!” 

The words meant nothing to Boba, but for the three copies, it was like a bomb had just dropped. They froze, tension stretching, then abruptly, Eyeliner whooped. Bobtail perked up, eyes bright with something manic that made Boba worried in a new way. 

Bobtail lifted his hand from Deet’s pauldron to smack a fist against it instead, nearly bouncing in place. “Lead the way, Deet,” he barked, a pale imitation of Cody’s command voice but clearly in the same vein, enough to have Deet nodding and turning back the way he had come from. Bobtail jerked a ‘follow me’ gesture at the other two. “Come on! Hugs, bring Grumpy McHeadbutt.” 

Boba yelped as he was suddenly shifted, Blue- Hugs? Wouldn’t that be a fitting name- tossing him bodily over one of his shoulders instead and setting off with purpose. Boba flailed, testing Hugs’ grip, and when that did nothing, levered himself up with a palm on his back so he wasn’t just staring at his shebs, coming face-to-face with Eyeliner, bringing up the rear and carrying not only his own bucket, but Boba’s too. 

Eyeliner grinned, matching Hugs’ loping pace. Boba glared. 

“Where in the hells are we going?” he snapped, grunting when a rough movement on Hugs’ part jostled him. 

“To meet up with the rest of our squad,” Eyeliner answered him easily. 

“Why?” he gritted out. 

Eyeliner made a show of considering. “Mm... nope. Gonna let it be a surprise.” He smirked playfully, adding, “Maybe the surprise will do the trick and cheer you up, Grumpy.” 

“My name’s not Grumpy!” he snapped. 

“What is it, then?” 

Boba took a breath, ‘Boba Fett’ on the tip of his tongue, but hesitated. “... Lucky.” 

If Blue noticed the pause, he didn’t indicate it, simply nodding. “Bette-Lito,” he introduced himself. “Deet’s the one that came to get us, the one with the ponytail is Finger, and the one hauling you around is Hugs.” 

“Charmed,” he snarled, making sure his tone dripped vitriol. Bette-Lito barked a laugh. 

“Should have named yourself Quip or something,” he snickered, shaking his head. 

“Thanks for your completely unsolicited opinion,” Boba snipped back. Hugs’ shoulders jerked in a sudden laugh of his own. 

“Want to try again, vod’ika? I think there’s a few Vode on Shek’she that weren’t burned by the acid in your words,” he chuckled. 

“I’d be satisfied if you’re the only one burned, you [besom](http://mandoa.org),” Boba snarled back, twisting to be sure his voice was projected in the right direction for Hugs to hear him clearly and punctuating the statement with a ram of his elbow to his back. Hugs merely laughed again. 

Boba startled when he suddenly realized they were leaving Negotiator Block, but carefully decided not to comment. Despite himself, he began to grow curious. 

Deet led them down several streets and eventually into an alley, and from there, somehow (Boba didn’t have a great view from his vantage to tell) into one of the buildings forming the alley- this one not a living block. An... uninhabited warehouse, maybe, he guessed. It was too clean and tidy to be abandoned, but it was also echoing empty, a mustiness that spoke of a lack of life or use hanging in the air. Boba resisted the urge to sneeze. 

Hugs finally came to a stop, shifting Boba off his shoulder. Instead of just moving Boba’s position, however, he actually set Boba on his own two feet. 

They didn’t allow Boba any time to attempt an escape though, he and Bette-Lito happily herding Boba to a ladder leading up to a hole high up on a wall made from a removed wall panel. Finger was already most of the way up, and Boba caught sight of what he assumed was Deet’s boot disappearing into the hole. 

Boba warily considered the ladder, then the pair of copies blocking his escape, both of them beaming sunnily at him. He _really_ didn’t want to get caught up in whatever idiocy was about to unfold, but... he had to admit he was curious. And Healer To-mae had suggested trying to make friends... Besides, Bette-Lito still had possession of his bucket! Yeah. 

Reluctantly, he stepped onto the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you mix a random six-pack of 19-year-olds, Boba, and no adult supervision? 
> 
> ~Shenanigans~
> 
> The ‘Bette’ part of Bette-Lito’s name is pronounced Bet (like make a bet), his friends call him B-Li for short because it’s a mouthful. And no, Bette-Lito isn’t trans or anything, he’s he/him pronouns, he just thinks eyeliner looks fabulous on him. (He’s not wrong.) Deet’s name is pronounced with a long ee, like the vegetable beet. 
> 
> The ‘bad vibes go’ song is set to ‘I Will Survive’, if you were wondering. I do not own the song. 
> 
> Shek’she is what the moon of Cin Vehtin is named. It is named in honor of 99, because Clone Force 99 were the first settlers of the moon. Shek’she is more like our moon or Mars than, say, Endor, with no liquid water or really any life, but it does have a thin atmosphere that they supplement with a warren-like system of enclosed, interconnected buildings. They primarily act as a refueling station for ships the Vode don’t want actually landing on-planet for one reason or another. I really only mention because Boba isn’t really going to explore it in story, just a fun side-note. 
> 
> *Keldabe kiss, which is slang for a headbutt, is also colloquially used for a familiar head-press that is a Mando’ade trade-mark. 
> 
> Hugs, Finger and Bette-Lito are all mine, as are all the extras in this chapter.


	11. Red Squad

Boba emerged into a kind of storeroom at the top of the ladder. Shelves lined the walls, the missing wall panel slipped into the gap between the wall and a shelf by the hole. A few scattered containers here and there on the shelves was the only evidence of its previous use. Now, it was apparently some kind of cobbled together hide-out. The space had been filled with mis-matched furniture and decorations, all of it looking like it had been pilfered from junkyards or picked up off street corners and then carefully mended in a patchwork of materials. Posters and drawings- mostly travel advertisements for other planets- nearly papered over the walls and no small portion of the shelves, rope lights winding up the shelving and curling around the ceiling like vines, providing a soft glow that dimly illuminated the space, making it... soothing. Intimate. 

It was strangely... nice. 

Deet and Finger had moved to join another pair currently sitting near a lamp in the center of the space, a kind of focal point, almost like a campfire. One of the new pair, this one a copy with his head shaved and a small soulpatch on his chin, stood as Deet and Finger approached, nodding respectfully to them. The other one, the one that remained sitting, was not a clone, to Boba’s shock. They were human, a teenling human male like them, but his hair was shoulder-length and pale blond, and he didn’t wear armor, instead dressed in simple, sturdy workman’s clothes. He glanced up at Finger and Deet as they approached, showing pale eyes and long features, flashing a smile before bending back over his work; apparently trying to pry something off what looked to be- 

“Is that a _jetpack?_ ” Boba blurted, wincing at how accusatory he sounded and shrinking back when every eye turned to him. Jetpacks weren’t exactly _rare_ on Cin Vehtin, Boba had seen plenty in use since arriving, but the copies were a bit strict on who was allowed to use them; you had to be a certain age just to take the training, and then pass a test to get a license to operate one on your own. These copies looked old enough to maybe have licenses, but judging from the anti-theft lock the blond was apparently trying to get off, he guessed this jetpack was acquired through... less than legitimate means. Like blasters at the ranges, you could rent one, but also like the blasters, they were kept under pretty heavy lock and key and access was restricted. Not that Boba had checked or anything. 

The blond grinned, eyes flashing. “Almost.” He reached towards a nearby chair, grabbing something on it and holding it aloft, Boba’s stomach swooping and the blond’s grin widening. “It’s _two_ jetpacks.” 

Hugs whistled, impressed. “Nice work!” 

“Thanks.” The blond set the jetpack down, returning to his work. “Who’s the mouthy new guy?” 

“That’s Lucky,” Finger introduced him with a little shrug. “Hugs found him sulking and adopted him.” 

Boba sputtered, but Hugs didn’t deny the accusation, merely flinging his arms around Boba’s shoulders in another hug, but from behind this time, pressing their cheeks together. He neatly avoided Boba’s reflexive elbow-jab. 

“Sounds about right,” Soulpatch hummed. He met Boba’s eyes. “I’m Hanks. This is Yettero.” He gestured shortly to the blond, who lifted a hand in a short little wave but didn’t look up, his brow furrowed in concentration. Hanks smiled fondly at Yettero, then met Boba’s eyes again. “Welcome to Red squad, Lucky.” 

“Thanks,” he snipped sarcastically, crossing his arms with a scowl. “What I’ve always wanted.” 

Bette-Lito snorted, rolling his eyes from where he had flopped down into one of the well-worn chairs, though decidedly less amused than last time. “You know, you don’t have to lash out at every single person that dares to talk to you.” 

Boba paused, catching the slight hard edge to Bette-Lito’s voice, the faint ring of reprimand. He was offended? _Now?_

“Leave him alone, B-Li,” Hugs defended him, arms tightening around Boba’s shoulders and shifting a tiny bit, just enough to suggest- without actually doing it- getting between Boba and Bette-Lito. “He’s upset. He didn’t mean it.” 

Oh. He _was_ offended. Boba glanced between Bette-Lito and Hanks. Were they... like Cody and Gree? It would make sense. 

Boba didn’t really care that he had offended Bette-Lito, or any of them, honestly. But, he was playing a part here. A copy would care. So, he scrubbed a hand over his face, schooling it into something a little softer, and exhaled, forcing his shoulders to relax with it. 

“Sorry,” he grumbled, decidedly less acerbic than before. “It’s been... a day.” A few days, really. Or a few months, depending on your perspective. A few _years_ . He lifted his hand just enough to glare at them all warningly. “I _don’t_ want to talk about it.” 

Bette-Lito considered him for a moment, then that hard edge melted away, the made up copy shrugging. “Ok.” Without pause, he turned to Yettero instead. “Oi, ‘tero, those jetpacks ready yet?” 

The focus in the room shifted to Yettero, and Boba blinked at the subject being dropped so easily. Before he could recover from the mood whip-lash, Yettero was answering. 

“Almost.... almost... there!” The anti-theft lock finally popped off with a loud noise, a victorious grin blooming on his face. “Gentlemen, we are in business!” 

Excitement traveled through them in a palpable wave, electrifying the copies as they exchanged grins and glances. Deet bounced on his toes. Boba found his tongue. 

“What are you going to do with those?” They didn’t look like the types to try a heist, or any illegal activity really, but what else was there to do with pilfered jetpacks? 

Yettero met his eyes, and the glint in his eye was downright _crazy._

“Oh,” he chuckled, soft and casual, “I’ve got a few ideas.” 

  
  


“No.” Boba shook his head, flatly refusing. “Absolutely not.” 

“Aw come on,” Hugs cajoled. “You’ll be wearing your helmet. It’ll be fun!” 

“That,” he pointed savagely at the open main floor of the building, where Yettero and Bette-Lito were busily attaching one of the jetpacks to the bottom of a sled-style grav lift, and the other to the seat of a rolling stool, with what looked like dura-tape, “is not _fun._ That’s [jareor](http://mandoa.org), that’s what that is!” 

“Scaredy-cat,” Hanks scoffed, good-natured teasing to his tone softening the insult, but Boba snarled at him anyway. Hanks rolled his eyes. “Fine then. Finger, I challenge you.” 

Boba stiffened, then perked. Challenge? Why did that sound familiar? 

Finger barked a laugh, a competitive air settling about him, and he swung a leg over the ladder, sliding down it. Hanks followed him with a whoop, the two moving to join Hugs, who was watching the preparations giddily.

“Come on, Lucky,” Deet laughed, hefting a carry-sack he had been filling with teal bottles from a conservator in the corner over his shoulder and moving to follow them. 

“No, I’m going to stay up here, where it’s safe,” he grumbled. He didn’t expect Deet to pause. 

“Oh,” he murmured, and Boba held back a pre-emptive sigh at yet another attempt to convince him to join the ‘fun’- “Well here.” 

Boba blinked at the bottle Deet was holding out to him. Deet smiled shyly at him. 

He swallowed thickly. “Why?” 

Deet shrugged, still holding the bottle. “Well, you don’t have to join us for everything, but we don’t want you to feel left out either. You’re Red Squad now.” 

“You don’t know me,” Boba snarled, suddenly blazingly angry, advancing a step on the nervous Deet, who flinched back, hand trembling now, but still extended. “Why do any of you _care?_ ” 

“But I do know you.” 

Boba froze. Deet continued to speak, voice small and soft, hand trembling, no trust but also not a shred of doubt in his eyes. “Your name is Lucky. You were decanted on Kamino, raised up there, just like us. Until you were brought to Cin Vehtin, just like us. And I know you’re hurt.” His eyes narrowed a little, considering and thoughtful. “Maybe by your squad. Maybe by something else. Maybe by a lot of things. But the hurt is why you’re angry. Hugs thinks he can fix all the hurts in the world with enough hugs. He doesn’t get that some people need hugs forced on them, but others need to be allowed the space to choose the hug. I know you’re one of the latter.” He shrugged, a tiny lift of one shoulder. “And I know you’re our brother.” His smile widened a little and voice became firmer. “Vode An.” 

Boba’s eyes dropped to the bottle again, swallowing, his anger gone abruptly cold. Slowly, he took the bottle. 

Deet flashed him another smile, brighter, and slid down the ladder. 

Boba moved to sit on the ledge, legs hanging out of the hole, and watched as Red Squad began to race each other on the now jetpack-powered lift and stool, drifting around pillars, weaving around obstacles, and culminating in a kind of game of chicken with a wall, where the rider apparently had to stay on as long as he dared before jumping off. Apparently they were making up some kind of points system based on overall time, how well the obstacles were avoided, how close you got to the wall, and panache. Two raced, while the other four drank and bantered, whooping and hollering. Occasionally, one or another would look up to where he was sitting, and flash him a smile, but none of them tried to convince him to come down again. 

Boba sat, and watched them, and sipped at the cider. It was cold, and tart, and good. He picked at the label and thought about his first one-on-one, thought about what Tory had told Instructor Kev was his intention when he called out to him. Thought about what Jester had said, and To-mae, and Deet. Thought about what he wanted. 

He finished his cider and stood, decided. 

Hugs was the first to turn toward him when his boots hit the ground, surprise melting to joy. “Lucky!” 

“Deet,” he grunted, feeling awkward but trying desperately to appear cool instead, “Toss me another of those. If I’m going on one of those things, I’m _not_ doing it sober.” Not that he had ever been drunk before, but he heard it improved your ability to tolerate danger and stupid ideas. 

Deet smiled and brought another teal bottle out of the bag. Hugs threw an arm around his shoulders, shaking him a little, beaming. Finger and Bette-Lito both playfully punched his pauldron as they returned from their go around the track, and Yettero scrubbed a hand over the soft bristles of his hair. Hank took the bottle from Deet, passing it in turn to Boba. “Good man,” he chuckled, approval warm in his voice. 

Boba flushed and popped the top. 

  
  
  


“And don’t get me started on fekkin’ _Arreru,_ ” Boba groaned, throwing his hands up. “Guy’s trying so _hard_ some days it’s all I can do to not tell him to go hug a sarlacc, and he’s just everyone’s damn _favorite-_ ” 

“Sounds like a proper little yessir,” Hank nodded in agreement, passing him a box of noodles.

Boba had never heard that term before, but damn if it wasn’t accurate. “Yes, exactly. And you can’t even get mad at the [sheb'urcyin](http://mandoa.org) because he just means _so well,_ and- ugh. It’s frustrating. And with... his buir, I don’t even know where I _stand_ half the time. Am I disappointing him? Am I on the right track? [Chakaar](http://mandoa.org) won’t fekking _tell me_ one way or the other. At least with Gree-n,” he hurriedly changed Gree’s name, just in case they recognized it, he was a Commander after all, “I know where I stand. Even if where I stand is ‘kindly get out and die, anytime now would be great’.” 

“Now that right there,” Bette-Lito drawled around his mouthful of rice, “is a fekkin’ hostile environment, that’s what that is.” 

Boba snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.” Ka’ra, it was good to get all this off his chest to genuinely neutral ears. To-mae was good, but she knew Cody. She and Cody talked about him. He didn’t want any of this getting back to Cody, ever. He was sure he was slurring his words far more than he thought he was with as many ciders in him as he’d had, but just verbalizing it was enough. He paused to sloppily shovel some noodles into his mouth, leaning against Hugs’ shoulder. 

“So what happened to your squad, Lucky?” 

Boba paused, haze clearing from his mind a little, glad he was occupied shoving noodles into his mouth so given a moment of grace to think before he tried to answer Yettero. He needed to tread carefully here. 

“You don’t have to answer, Lucky,” Hank gently spoke, laying a hand on Yettero’s shoulder. Not in a ‘I’ll second you’, but like he was holding him back. 

Boba briefly marveled that he could tell the difference. 

“No, it’s ok,” he mumbled, staring down into the box. “I... I was adopted pretty much straight out of the tube.” Quickly, at Finger’s raised eyebrow, he did some mental math, holding back a curse as he covered himself. “I-I had batchmates, of course, but we weren’t assigned to squads yet when the Vote happened. Feels like it was straight out of the tube.” Finger’s eyebrow went down, and he relaxed. “When the Vote happened,” he paused to take a swig of his cider, “my Buir adopted me and took me off planet. He was a bounty hunter. He was teaching me to be one. Then he died. It... things have been bad ever since. I came back for the first time since about three months ago. It... ” He swallowed. “I didn’t exactly get the welcome I expected.” There, mostly the truth even, even though the timeline was all wonky. Hells, for all he knew he did have batchmates, though he had never met any. He and the Nulls were close enough in age. 

Hugs’ arm came up around his shoulders, hugging him to his side. “[Taab'echaaj'la](http://mandoa.org),” he whispered, sympathetic. Boba’s stomach lurched as he figured out what he meant after a moment of thought; the way he had phrased it, it sounded like Buir had died months ago rather than years. 

He swallowed, bowing his head to hide his face. Ka’ra, sometimes it felt like months. He nodded mutely, accepting the sympathies. 

“Batchers are like that,” Hank sighed, intentionally trying to lighten the mood, Boba could tell. “They’re who you start with, so they’re always special. We all try to keep up with ours, but... you grow apart. It happens.” He shrugged, the others nodding in agreement. 

Yettero, to his shock, was the next to speak up. “True. I still talk with Khivi and Frankk back at the Temple, sometimes, but even before I was shipped off to the Corps we were getting distant.” 

Wait. “You’re a Jedi?” Boba blurted, tensing. 

The blond snorted, exchanging his box of sweet and sour nuna with Deet’s box of pickled something or other. “Only in the loosest of senses. I aged out. I’m training to be Exploracorps, now.” 

“And we’re going to be Protectors,” Finger added with a grin, elbowing Yettero playfully. “Following this crazy son of a bantha into the fringes of Wild Space and parts as yet undiscovered.” 

Boba blinked, examining the circle of teenlings sitting with him around the glow of the lantern with new eyes. “Going to be what?” 

“Protectors?” Bette-Lito repeated, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “How do you not know who the Protectors are?” 

“Lay off him, B-Li, he just said he’s been gone since the Vote,” Hugs defended him. Bette-Lito huffed. Gently, Hugs explained, “The Protectors accompany Jedi, Naar, and Service Corps members and assist them in the execution of their duties where manpower or blasters are needed. Helping to defend planets, or provide protection details, or defend against wildlife.” He flashed a look at Yettero that said he expected it mostly to be the latter and was not pleased at the prospect. The Jedi smirked unapologetically back. 

“What’s the matter, Hugs?” he taunted. “Wild animals too much for you?” 

“You only need to be bitten one time,” Hugs grumbled. They dissolved into laughter. 

Boba bit his lip, question burning, then decided to just go for it. “Why?” 

They all paused, turning to him with frowns of confusion and concern, laughter dying. “Why what, Lucky?” 

“Why will you follow him?” he demanded, a little more harshly this time. “Why do you choose to continue letting... _Jedi_ in? The Republic can’t force you to anymore.” He swallowed, the silence now ringing in his ears. “Every... everything bad that’s happened. To me, to you, to all of us- _all_ of it can be laid at the Jedi’s feet. They commissioned us. They commissioned us to _die,_ and then-” 

“Lucky, Lucky, udesii,” Deet’s voice suddenly broke through, soothing, a bare hand gently slipping onto his nape, and Boba gasped, suddenly realizing he had been shouting, his chest tight. His hands clenched. 

“Why?” he reiterated softly. 

The copies exchanged looks, somber and thoughtful. Yettero leaned back, darting his eyes, clearly leaving that one for the others to answer. 

“Well...”

Boba’s eyes snapped to Deet, and he flushed, but continued. “Partly, it’s because... we were made for them. In the end, no matter how you slice it, everything about our training was supposed to prepare us to help Jedi. Through serving in the GAR, sure, but... serving in the Protectors, and helping Naar and Service Corps, too, it’s just a natural extension.” 

Boba closed his eyes, Buir’s voice echoing in his mind, suddenly nauseous. _Copies, Boba. They’re just copies._

Deet continued without seeming to notice Boba’s reaction. “Partly, it’s because it’s a _choice_ now. You know? It would have been so easy to keep us in the army after the war ended. Keep the GAR as a standing army, unchanged. Who would have argued? But they didn’t. As soon as the fighting was done, the Jedi, and the Naar- they stood up for us. They fought to give us a choice. And when we made other choices, when some of us set down our blasters and picked up plows or books or starship yokes or whatever instead, they let us go. They let us go, and said thank you for what you _did_ give.” Boba opened his eyes, startled, just in time to catch Deet glancing at Yettero, his gaze loaded. “Even now, if any one of us decided to do something else, Yettero would let us go, no hard feelings at all. Today, tomorrow, the day before we swear in. A month, a year, five years, ten, twenty, down the line; the Protectors would let us go.” 

Boba swallowed, looking down to his hands again. Deet gave him a little squeeze where his hand still rested on his nape. 

“And the rest of it,” he sighed, “is because... on some level, Jedi and Fett Clones just _get_ each other in ways other people don’t.” His hand slid away, Deet picking up his food again, and Boba immediately missed it. “When we say batchmate, they say crechemate. When we say Cul’vay Dar, they say Masters. When we say decommissioned, they say age out.” He popped a bite of nuna into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and continued. “When they say they were _meant_ to serve the Republic, that it’s their _destiny_ , that it never even occurred to them to do anything else, we know _exactly_ what they mean.” 

Deet glanced up when silence followed in the wake of his soliloquy, seeming to snap from some kind of musing trance and just now noticing everyone in the circle was staring at him. He flushed, gaze dropping and burying his face in his take-out box, nervous again. “O-or something.” 

“Or something,” Bette-Lito scoffed fondly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You have a poet’s soul, ner vod.” 

Deet doged the hand, batting it away good-naturedly. His smile gentled when he turned back to meet Boba’s eye. “Does that help?” 

Boba breathed out, shakily, and answered honestly. “I don’t know.” He passed a hand over his mouth. “I’d have to think about it.” 

“Do,” Finger nodded. “We’ll be here for more questions if you think of ‘em. Besides, Sideous was the one that really commissioned us. The Jedi might have led us, but if anyone’s responsible for us being made to suffer, it’s him.” He took a bite of his food. “And at any rate, we sure showed him on that front, eh?” 

There was a round of agreeing noises. Boba frowned, sinking into thought. 

“Hey, Lucky.” He startled, frowning and raising an eyebrow at Hank. Hank spoke carefully. “Are you... you’re getting help, right?” 

Boba frowned, jerking back. Of all the rude- 

“Why?” he snarled. 

“Relax.” Hank held up his hands, palm out, in a surrendering gesture. “Not asking for details. Just want to make sure you’re talking to _someone._ It’s not healthy to be carrying around as much resentment as you are.” He frowned lightly. “And it’s pretty obvious you’ve got some issues.” 

Boba expelled a breath in a sigh. This was the price, wasn’t it? Companions meant prying, always. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m talking to someone.” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t always _help_ , but I am.” 

“Good.” Hank nodded, satisfied. 

“Really,” Hugs concurred with another squeeze of his shoulders, earnest. “It’s good to get backup when you need it. And debriefs. And hugs!” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t get why so many nat-borns are so squeamish about mental health. It saves lives-!” 

“Shut up, Hugs,” Red Squad chorused in perfect time. Hugs pouted. 

Boba sniggered, and the mood lifted. 

  
  
  


At 1800 hours, Boba’s comm chirped. He glanced at it, recognizing Arreru’s comm code. He stared at it. 

“Oi, Lucky, who’s that?” 

He looked up at Bette-Lito, declining the call. “Nothing.” 

“Well then get over here, it’s your turn to deal.” 

  
  
  


“... now, with our skin tone, you really should go for warm, fall colors-” 

“Wha the ‘ell’s a ‘fall color’?” Boba slurred, swaying where he sat, frowning dazedly at an eyeshadow palette. 

“He means reds and browns and osik,” Finger grunted, not slurring as bad as Boba but definitely swaying worse. 

“Finger, you ignorant nerf-herder, it’s not about the _color_ , it’s the _shade_ -” 

In the midst of the debate, Boba’s comm chirped in the background, unnoticed. 

  
  
  


“Guys!” the gasp, mournful and dismayed, brought everyone’s attention to Hugs by the conservator. Blue eyes were wide as he turned to them and announced with great gravity, “We’re out of alcohol!” 

“Nooooo!” Finger wailed from where he lay on the floor. 

“We’re doomed,” Deet sighed from where he was curled up on Bette-Lito, soft and resigned. 

“Lightweights,” Yettero snickered. He didn’t even look flushed, the absolute [shabuir](http://mandoa.org). 

“Boys, boys,” Hank grunted, sitting up from lounging on Yettero and sounding very authoritative despite his slur, “This... this is an emergency. S-someone has to go get more.” 

“Nooo,” Finger whined. “No movin’.” 

“I agree,” Yettero hummed placatingly, his hands landing on Hank’s shoulders and gently coaxing him down. Hank flopped back onto his lap. “Let’s all just hang out and sleep it off, hmm?” 

Boba frowned. His mind moved sluggishly over the problem, eyes wandering. 

They needed more cider. They needed to move as little as possible. How to do both?

His eyes alighted on the grav-lift down on the main floor, abandoned so many hours ago. He perked up with a gasp. 

Hank raised an eyebrow at him. “Wha?” 

Boba grinned and sounded much more sober than he actually was. “I have an idea.” 

  
  
  


Gree Alverd carefully checked over his children once again, knot of dread in his gut relaxing, but only incrementally. Arreru had been upset enough by Boba’s disappearance that he had fretted himself to sleep in their private berth instead of his bunk in General Berthing, so even he was here, passed out in Mira’s bunk. In honesty, Gree was glad he was here and not in General Berthing; he was a light sleeper, and reliable. If anything were to happen, Arreru would protect his vod’ike with his life. Gree passed a hand over his soft head, Arreru shifting with a hum. Somehow, he still looked worried, even in sleep. 

Inspection complete, he swept out of the shared berth on silent feet, and went straight for Cody’s office. 

His riduur met his gaze with weary eyes, shadows coloring the undersides. He slumped in his chair, leaning his elbows against his desk, hands cupping the lower half of his face, comm discarded carelessly in front of him. Exhaustion was written into every line of his posture. Gree was tempted to feel sorry for him. 

Almost. 

“I told you this would happen,” he snarled. 

Cody’s eyes closed, and somehow he drooped more. His head bowed, and hands slid to card into his own hair. “Gree...” 

“Cin Vehtin my aching shebs,” he continued, steam-rolling Cody like he hadn’t even spoken. “That kid could be anywhere. He probably stole a ship and is halfway to some old hide-out of Fett’s, or worse, still on planet, wreaking merry hell-” 

“ _Gree-_ ” 

“How high is the body count going to be this time, Cody?” Gree demanded, harsh and ruthless in his terrified anger. “You know what that kid is capable of. Wayii, it’s going to be the Battle of Kamino all over again-” 

“I KNOW!” Cody roared, surging to his feet, palms slamming onto the desktop. “Ka’ra, Gree, don’t you think I know?!” The self-flagellating rage in his voice might have mollified Gree on another day. But not today. Not in the wee hours of the morning, over 12 hours after Boba Fett had disappeared without a trace.

“Do you?” he hissed, cold and sharp. “You’re the one that keeps on insisting on treating him like any other teenling. But he’s _not_ any other teenling, Cody, he’s _Boba Fett,_ and he’s _dangerous-_ ” 

“Maybe he _wouldn’t_ have run off if you weren’t so _blatantly hostile_ -” 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Out of reflex, they both fell silent at the holocomm’s chirping. Cody picked it up, his lips thinning. 

“It’s Fox,” he murmured, resigned reluctance flashing in his eyes. 

Gree crossed his arms and remained silent, but knew his glare said it all. _Told you._

Cody activated the holo, and they both froze. 

“ _Is this yours?_ ” Commander Fox, formerly CO of the Coruscant Guards and now CO of the Cin Vehtin Guards, laughed good naturedly, holding a somehow simultaneously mulish and queasy looking Boba Fett by the scruff of his blacks. 

Cody stared blankly at them, apparently speechless. Gree had to admit he was a little speechless too. 

“Boba Fett, why are you only wearing makeup on half your face?” was somehow Cody’s first question. 

It was a valid question, to be fair. Boba’s left eye was immaculately made up in a swooping eyeshadow job, though the colors were washed out in holo; the right eye, however, had only a few smears and smudges, like it had been similarly made up and then messily wiped away. 

“ _I got glitter in that eye,_ ” Boba grumbled, like that explained anything. 

Cody pinched his nose, sighing. “Where the hells have you been?” 

Boba scowled, crossing his arms petulantly. 

Fox chuckled, shaking his head. “ _We picked up him and his friends about an hour ago, all of them drunk as Correllians,_ ” he explained. “ _After they crashed their tricked-out grav-lift into a building._ ” 

Gree exchanged a bewildered look with Cody. Karking _what?_

“Friends?” Cody repeated sharply, suspiciously. Who? Gree wondered. Aurra Sing? Cad Bane? Hondo? Maybe- 

“ _Yeah, Red Squad,_ ” Fox shrugged. “ _Some rookie squad out of Thunder Block, a few quarters shy of graduating, and their Corps friend. Their minders have already collected them. Gotta give it to them, they all have been sticking to their silence like pros. But when I found out this one was yours, Cody,_ ” he flashed an absolutely wickely delighted grin, “ _I just knew I_ **_had_ ** _to deliver the news personally.”_

Cody slumped back in his chair, hand over his face. “What are the charges?” he sighed. 

_“Underage public consumption of intoxicants,_ ” Fox gleefully listed. “ _Unauthorized possession of a jetpack, OUI, half a dozen public safety violations, petty theft, and resisting arrest. By which I mean when some of my boys approached them after their lift crashed, one of them shouted at the top of their lungs ‘You’ll never take me alive. Scatter!’ and they attempted to do so. Only for every single one of them to faceplant._ ” His grin, somehow, widened. “ _It’s great, Yon got it on holo. I’ll send you a copy. In all, about 300 creds and 20 hours worth of fines._ ” 

Abruptly, Fox’s eyes went sharp, though his grin didn’t falter. “ _Just basic teenling stuff, Cody._ ” 

Fox always had been too observant, too good at sussing things out, for his own good. 

Cody sighed and nodded, but when he lifted his hand away from his eyes, the flash of gratitude was impossible to miss. “I’ll be there in a few.” 

“ _You know where to find us. Fox out._ ” The holo winked out. 

Slowly, Gree sat down. They sat in mutual silence for several minutes, neither of them looking at the other. 

Cody standing, his chair rolling back with an audible noise, broke the silence. “I should go get him, then.” 

“Cody...” Gree breathed out, not quite sure what he was going to say. 

“[Wer’cuy](http://mandoa.org), Gree.” Cody rumbled out, tired, as he kitted up the armor he had shed during his restless pacing. “He’s found. Let’s just leave it.” 

Gree clenched his fist. “I can’t just leave it, Cody.” 

Cody’s hands slowed on his latches, but did not still. Nor did he turn to look at him. “Tell me this, Gree,” he hummed, soft. Dangerous. “If it had been Arreru who went off the radar, only to resurface fourteen hours later, half made up like a Coruscanti hooker, clearly in the midst of the tox-null drugs taking effect, with that list of charges and Fox laughing his shebs off, saying he’s going to send holos, how would you react?” 

Gree pressed his lips together. “That’s not fair. He’s not Arreru.” 

“No,” Cody agreed. “But he is a teenling. He deserves space to be a teenling. As much as he can be afforded, anyway.” Abruptly, he turned, crouching before Gree’s chair and finally, finally meeting his eyes. “I understand why you’re worried,” he murmured. “I’m worried too. I saw the footage, same as you. I know the risks. But [haar’chak](http://mandoa.org), someone’s got to _try_ for this ka’ra damned kid.” 

The breath Gree exhaled was long and exhausted. “I can’t see it that way, Cody. I can’t... I can’t trust him.” 

“I know.” So gentle. Gree did not deserve this man. “Don’t trust him, then. Trust _me,_ Gree.” His head cocked. “Do you trust me?” 

“You know I do.” He flashed his riduur a small smile. “To Geonosis and back.” 

Cody didn’t smile, but he did nod. “Good.” Brusquely, he stood, collecting his bucket and moving to leave. 

“Love you,” he blurted, almost without thinking about it. But he needed to hear it, needed to know. 

Cody paused, and then turned back, gloved hand curling around Gree’s jaw, lifting his face. Cody bent over him, pressing his lips to Gree’s brow. Gree let his eyes slip closed, clasping Cody’s wrist. “Love you,” Cody murmured into his skin. 

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you. Shenanigans. 
> 
> (PS why was this chapter so easy to write and nothing else ever is what the heeeelllll)
> 
> *Taab'echaaj'la- back half of Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la (not gone, merely marching far away). Said in remembrance of the dead, similar to "they're in heaven now." Expression of solidarity and comfort. 
> 
> Hanks, Finger, Hugs, Bette-Lito, Deet, Yettero, and Mira are all my OCs, Arreru belongs to tanarill. Everyone else is cannon.


	12. Punishment Detail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotta chatting/space IM’ing going on in this chapter. For reference:    
>  _  
>  ... Hugs   
>  _   
>    
>  _  
>  ... Bette-Lito   
>  _   
>    
>  _  
>  *...* Deet   
>  _   
>  _  
>  ~...~ Yettero   
>  _   
>  _  
>  ‘...’ Finger   
>  _   
>  _  
>  /.../ Hanks   
>  _   
>  ****  
>  _... Boba_   
> 

Boba opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. 

The reasons for his regret were numerous. The light, for one, viciously stabbed at his eyes, which in turn made him intensely aware of his throbbing headache. His face felt crusty, and vaguely he recalled having a makeover done, but not washing said makeup off. His stomach was roiling, and his throat burned like he had been puking. His whole body ached. He felt like death warmed over, and wondered vaguely if he needed a bacta tank. 

But these things weren’t what really made him rethink deciding to admit he was alive and conscious. No, that honor belonged to the sight of Arreru, in armor, towering over him with his arms crossed and a thunderous expression on his face. 

Boba winced and flinched. 

Giggles made him look warily around the room, finding he was curled on a bunk in the quarters Gree and Cody had been assigned. The pair of commanders were sitting at the kitchenette table, drinking kaf; on the bunk directly beside him, right behind Arreru, Tor, Tal and Mira were sitting cuddled together, giggling openly at him. He glared, and they just giggled more. He groaned, closing his eyes again and drawing the blanket up over his head. Maybe Arreru would go away if he pretended to be dead?

“Oh no you _don’t._ ” Arreru’s seething hiss made him wince, and the abrupt cold as his blanket was snatched away, exposing him to the cold air, made him yelp and glare up at the Zygerrian, curling up tighter and shivering. He did not remember stripping down to his shorts last night, but he was seriously regretting it now. 

“What. The. _Kriff,_ _Boba?!_ ” Arreru burst, his tawny eyes blazing with righteous fury. Boba winced, his head throbbing like it was going to explode. “I leave you alone for _20 fekkin’ minutes_ and you disappear?! You could have at least fekking called-!” 

Boba glanced over to the Commanders imploringly as Arreru launched into an honestly rather impressive rant. This morning, they seemed to have swapped roles, Gree smirking with wry amusement while Cody glowered into a kaf mug. Gree just shook his head no when Boba made eye contact with him; unsurprising. Cody met his eyes and scowled. “Don’t look at me,” he grumbled. “Between you and Mira I got two hours of sleep last night. You’re on your own.” 

Fan-kriffin-tastic. 

Arreru didn’t even seem to notice the exchange, well into his stride now. “- of all the inconsiderate, [sheb](http://www.mandoa.org)-headed, _idiotic stunts-!_ DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU’RE IN?” 

“I will do literally any number of pushups if you just stop shouting,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing an arm over his face for good measure. His head felt like it was about to explode. 

“Bad bad bad!” Mira chanted, sounding like she couldn’t quite decide if she was copying Arreru’s anger or the cadets’ amusement. “Or’vod was bad!” 

Arreru threw up his hands. “And now we’re upsetting Mira!” He neatly spun on his heel, stalking over to the younger ones and picking his little sister up, then marching across the room to hand her off to Gree. Gree took her casually, settling her on his knee; Mira cuddled closer to him with a little whine. Boba frowned, peeking out from under his arm. What was up with that? 

Arreru didn’t offer him a chance to question it though, marching over to where his bucket had been abandoned on a bunk. He snatched up his bucket, shooting Boba a last vicious glare before slamming it on and moving towards the door. 

" _I'm going for a walk_ ," he snapped. " _And unlike some, I'll be REACHABLE by COMM!_ " 

The door slid shut behind him, leaving the room in blessed silence.

Cody let the silence sit for a few minutes before speaking. "He's not wrong," he sighed tiredly. "You are in quite a lot of trouble." His voice went a little sterner. "I didn't give you a comm for it to be a fancy decoration. And I certainly didn't give you one without a tracking chip for you to abuse that trust and take off without warning." 

Boba groaned, dragging his blanket back up. “Can we skip the lecture and go straight to the sentencing?” he grumbled softly, clenching his eyes shut against the lights. [Ka’ra](http://www.mandoa.org), he was never drinking again. 

Cody waited a long moment before answering. “... alright. If you had any plans for the rest of this rest period, cancel them. You currently owe the Cin Vehtin Guards 289 credits and 21 hours of community service in fines for your little adventure last night, and you will be too busy paying them to do anything else. When you aren’t doing your community service, you are confined to level 12 until further notice.” Boba grunted. That wasn’t too bad; he hadn’t had any plans anyway- 

Cody continued. “You also have had your General Berthing privileges revoked and are barred from the blaster range.” 

Boba tried to sit up quickly and immediately curled up again, breathing slowly to try and make the room stop spinning. Between gritted teeth, he snarled, “What?! What am I supposed to do-?” 

“Your community service,” Cody snipped. Something thumped onto the bed; Boba cracked an eye to look, and found Cody had thrown a water bulb on his bunk. “Get some rest, and drink some fluids, the tox nulls only get rid of the drunkenness, not the hangover. You start after lunch.” 

Boba groaned and cracked open the bulb. 

  
  
  


"Where are we going?" Boba frowned in his bucket as he followed Cody out of Negotiator Block. 

Cody didn't even pause. " _Guards headquarters. Where you were held last night. They'll assign you your detail there._ " 

Great. Now on top of still feeling like death warmed over, he was going to have to hike to his punishment. Boba groaned. 

Cody snorted. “ _Forgot to close the channel._ ” 

Brusquely, he snapped back, “Didn’t _._ ” Cody snorted again and closed it. 

After nearly 20 minutes of walking- Boba was almost certain Cody was deliberately going the long way but didn't know the area well enough to call him on it- they finally approached another blocky, gray duracrete building, this one with a large sign that simply read 'CIN VEHTIN GUARD' in Arubesh and Mando'a above the doors. Boba vaguely recalled being hauled into and, slightly more clearly, out of the building the previous night. It seemed busier than he recalled, but considering the time frame he had been there, he supposed that only made sense. 

Inside the lobby, Cody led him to the front desk. The copy manning the desk noticed Cody, and despite being in a gray uniform instead of armor, snapped to attention and offered him a salute that Cody returned. "What can I do for you, Commander?" 

" _Dropping off this one for his punishment detail shift,_ " he replied crisply with a small nod in Boba's direction. 

The copy's eyes flicked to him, curious, but only for a second before refocusing on a terminal in front of him. He typed rapidly for a second, then read whatever came up. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he looked at Cody with an incredulous look.

Cody nodded slightly. Boba scowled. 

Despite his obvious shock, the copy's voice was nothing but professional. "Yes, sir. Leave it with us. He'll be done by 1900." 

" _Good_ ." Cody gave another, sharper nod, then turned to Boba. Closed comm, he said, tone leaving room for zero argument, " _I will be here to pick you up at 1900. Do_ **_not_ ** _leave here without an escort._ **_Behave_ ** _. Understood?_ " 

"Alumina," he snarled. 

One more sharp nod, and Cody was gone, leaving him with the copy at the desk. Warily, Boba looked at him. He had apparently used the few moments Boba’s attention had been on Cody to school his expression again, and now his face was as briskly professional as his voice as he continued to read whatever was on the terminal screen. Without looking up, he pointed down a hall. 

“Looks like we’ve got you on kitchen duty. Down that hall, third right, fourth door down. Report to Sargent Flare.” 

Boba nodded stiffly and stalked down the indicated hall. The fourth door down, unsurprisingly, was marked 'Kitchen B'. Reluctantly, not quite sure what to expect, he pushed the door open. 

“LUCKY!” 

Boba only had time to blink in shock before he was swept off his feet into Hugs’ strong grip. He grunted, stomach roiling. 

“Hugs, put me down _right now_ or I swear I will make you clean the puke out of my bucket!” he barked. 

Immediately, he was dropped to his feet, Hugs’ hands steadying his shoulders and a concerned furrow to his brow. “Whoa, you ok?” 

Oh, that worked. Have to remember that, Boba thought vaguely to himself as he tore off his bucket. Just in case he actually did throw up. 

“Aw, [vod’ika](https://www.mandoa.org) go too hard on the drink last night?” Bette-Lito crooned, playfully mocking, from where he was sitting with Finger and Deet, the three of them peeling toptatos. Boba shot him a rude hand gesture. He laughed. 

“Oo, yeah, you don't look too good," Finger piped up, more sympathetic. "That first hangover is always the worst. Probably should have made you slow down, or at least made sure you hydrated. That's our bad. Sorry, vod'ika." 

"I did suggest that," Yettero sniffed, looking the least hungover of them all, from where he and Hanks were chopping up the peeled toptatos into small cubes. "I was overruled." 

“Oh, I see how it is. Blame it all on us,” Hanks muttered, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one who can filter toxins out at will.” 

Yettero huffed. “Well I-”

“Alright, alright, stow the chatter,” an adult copy barked, turning the corner with a stern frown on his face and a large basket of more toptatos in his hands. Bright red decorated his armor. “Back to work! Ah, there’s our last straggler.” He plopped down the basket next to the three already sitting by a sink, dusting off his hands, and raised an eyebrow at Boba. “Lucky, was it?” 

Boba felt his gut twist with a spike of panic. There was no way this copy didn’t know who he actually was. Oh ka’ra, this copy was going to give him away- 

“Yeah, this is Lucky,” Hugs answered for him after a beat of expectant silence, throwing a claiming arm around his neck. “Don’t mind him, it’s better than the attitude he was giving yesterday. Guess quiet is better than snippy.” 

If he hadn’t been about to puke from something other than his hangover, Boba would have driven his elbow into Hugs’ side for that. As it was, he stood stiffly, meeting the copy’s gaze. 

The copy’s- Sargent Flare, Boba guessed- face softened slightly. “Relax. Just want to make sure I’m calling you by the right name. You’re listed as something else in the system.” 

Boba exhaled slowly and forced himself to reply, but his shoulders didn’t relax. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Lucky.” 

The Sargent nodded sharply. “Sargent Flare,” he introduced himself. “You may call me Sargent.” Slightly gentler, almost kind, he added, “You should have your minder change your name in the system so there’s no confusion.” Boba blinked, thrown for a loop. The copy thought... he was changing his name? 

As quickly as he had gentled, Sargent Flare was stern again, barking, “Now stow your bucket and gloves over there and then get over here, you’re on wash-up. Cadet Hugs, back to work!” 

“Yessir,” Hugs barked back, giving Boba a last squeeze before going back to Yettero and Hanks and returning to his chopping. 

Boba stowed his gloves and bucket as instructed and went to the sink, starting to scrub the toptatos clean on autopilot. As he scrubbed, he mulled over his panic at the thought of being discovered by Red Squad. He’d known them less than 48 hours, what was up with that? He wasn’t ashamed of who he was. And what was up with Flare just... accepting him using a different name? 

“Cadet Lucky, pick up the pace!” Flare barked, making him jump. 

He opened his mouth to snap back- and caught sight of Red Squad from the corner of his eye. Almost literally, he swallowed his first response, and replied instead in a petulant snarl, “Yes... sir.” 

“Less lip, more scrub, Cadet,” Flare barked. 

Boba bit his lip, ducked his head, and picked up the pace. 

  
  
  


Boba was no stranger to kitchen duty at this point- ka’ra knew he and Arreru had pulled it often enough for the one-on-ones, or just for a change of pace from creche duty- but kitchen duty with Red Squad was... different. More relaxed. Despite his general malaise, he still found himself snorting at Hugs’ and Finger’s jokes, rolling his eyes at Hanks and Bette-Lito’s and Yettero’s light bickering, cracking a smile in return when Deet offered him a mug of kaf with one of his small smiles during the break. It was... nice. Natural. 

When Sargent Flare abruptly announced, “Alright, Cadets. Ten minutes cleanup, then you’re done for today. Report back here, bright and early, 0630 tomorrow,” Boba was genuinely surprised.

“Really?” he blurted, frowning in confusion. Hadn’t they just taken their halfway break an hour ago?

Bette-Lito snorted and smirked, reaching over to lightly flick suds at his face. “Time flies when you’re having fun, eh?” 

Boba scrunched his nose, deftly avoiding the hand. Bette-Lito laughed and marked his pauldron instead, making Boba scowl. Bette-Lito just laughed harder. 

As they left the kitchen, trooping down the hall back out to the lobby, Hugs threw an arm over his shoulders, raising a friendly, inquisitive eyebrow. “So, you up for some legal fun? We’re gonna go play bolo ball, want to come?” 

Boba didn’t actually know how to play bolo ball, but that was hardly the main issue. “Can’t,” he grumbled, mouth pulling into a disgruntled frown. “I’m grounded.” 

“Boo,” Bette-Lito groaned, rolling his eyes. “Your minder must be such a tight-reg if they’re grounding you on top of community service-” 

Boba startled with the rest of them when a voice interjected. 

“The grounding is for neglecting his comm,” Cody offered, almost casual. Boba swallowed as the entire squad froze around him, their eyes going wide with recognition. “Not whatever you seven got up to that had Commander Fox calling me at unreasonable hours.” 

Red Squad gaped, stunned. Boba glowered at Cody for ruining the mood. Cody merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

The eyebrow seemed to be the trigger for the rest of the squad to snap out of their stupor, abruptly all of them snapping to attention and saluting. All of them except Yettero and Boba of course, but even the Corpsman straightened and offered a shallow, respectful bow. “Commander!” Hanks barked. 

“As you were.” Cody offered them a regal nod of acknowledgement, then looked straight at Boba, giving a quick jerk of his head to indicate he should follow and turning on his heel, slipping on his bucket as he began to march away. Boba scowled at his back, but slipped away from the group, pulling on his own bucket and beginning to trot after him. 

“See you tomorrow, Lucky!” 

The shout made him pause and half turn back, step faltering, to see Deet smiling after him with a little wave. Despite the shock lingering on their faces, the rest of the squad summoned up smiles and gestures of farewell of their own. 

Boba hesitated, then slowly lifted his own hand. Deet beamed. 

Stiffly, Boba spun back to trot after Cody again, doing his best to ignore the flush of something warm diffusing through his chest. 

As he walked beside Cody, Boba let his thoughts wander, mulling over the day; he startled when Cody spoke over a closed channel. “ _Enjoy the time with your friends?_ ” 

Boba frowned. “You arranged that?” Suddenly suspicious, he snapped, “Why?” 

“ _I didn’t_ ,” Cody refuted blithely. “ _But I didn’t stop it either. Squadmates share punishments, remember?_ ” 

Boba shrugged stiffly. That was what Cody always said when assigning him and Arreru punishment details, anyway. Still suspicious, he pressed, "I assume you picked the Sargent, then? Or briefed him?" That would explain why Flare played it so cool. 

" _No_ ," Cody replied, this time his voice laced with amusement. 

Huh. 

More cautiously, he asked, "Did Naberrie have a hand in my detail at all?" 

Cody huffed a laugh, strangely warped through the comms, his shoulders hitching in time to the sound and head shaking wryly. " _Not to my knowledge. Boba_ ." His faceplate turned to look directly at Boba, giving the impression of eye contact even with their buckets up. " _You have received the same treatment as anyone else in your position. The only thing I did is I asked Fox to make sure you got a detail leader that would treat you fairly. That's all._ " He turned back to the front, adding conversationally, " _Didn’t have to bother, Fox assured me he had already done it, so I left it there. I don't even know who you got. Who did you get, by the way?_ " 

“Sargent Flare,” Boba answered absently, his mind already becoming preoccupied with this new information. 

“ _Hmm. Don’t know him, but I’ve heard of him. Good reputation._ ” Cody nodded approvingly. 

Seemingly satisfied, Cody dropped the conversation and closed the channel. Boba let him and thought about fairness. 

As they stepped off the lift onto the 212ths flight deck, there was immediately a call of "Commander!" making Cody pause. 

When Boba paused with him, he made a small gesture of dismissal and said through a closed comm line, " _Go on. Arreru should be around somewhere._ " 

Stiffening at the implication that he needed Arreru to babysit him, Boba nodded curtly and stalked off, leaving the Commander to talk with the armored but bucketless copy that approached him with a datapadd. 

He started towards the blaster range instead, mostly just to be contrary. At the door, he was startled when a copy held out an arm, blocking his path. He looked up into the blandly apologetic face of a copy, Boba automatically identifying him as the on-duty range safety officer by the fabric cuff on his arm. 

"Sorry," he said, not actually sounding sorry at all, "You're currently on the no-fire list. Orders from Commander Cody." 

Right. Cody had mentioned that. 

Still, Boba drew himself up, glaring at the copy from behind his bucket and fists clenching. How dare this copy tell him what to do? Cody at least had a legal right through Naberrie. 

The copy's eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening a bit. He made no move whatsoever to drop his arm. 

A light vibration from the belt pouch he kept his comm in broke the aggressive tension that had been building between him and the copy. Boba jumped. Tension broken, he shot the copy one last glare before stiffly turning to stalk away and answer the comm. It was a message, not a holo, and when he read the contents he realized that was probably a good thing. 

_LUCKY_

_WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO MENTION YOUR MINDER IS COMMANDER FEKKIN CODY?!?!_

_It’s Hugs, btw_

Boba stared bemusedly at the string of rapid messages. 

**_How did you get this code?_ **

_asked Sgt Flare_

_stop avoiding the question_

Boba rolled his eyes. 

**_It just didn’t really come up._ **

_Vod’ika. You spent an hour drunkenly bellyaching at us about your minder._

**_And who are you?_ **

_B-L_

_Oh yeah I looped you into our group comm chain, everyone’s here_

Boba rolled his eyes and began to type. 

  
  
  


Boba groaned as he flipped onto his bunk in Cody and Gree's guest quarters. He hoped whoever had first thought 0600 was a reasonable hour to be up and moving, much less reporting for duty, had died in a fire. Same for whoever thought two full shifts in a row was reasonable. He knew he was being punished, but _ka'ra_. 

A soft buzzing from his comm made him laboriously turn his head so he could look at the screen of his comm with one cracked eye. He snorted at Finger’s joke, feeling a smile tug at his mouth despite himself, and began to type a response. 

“Who are you talking to?” 

He looked over at Arreru, sitting at the kitchenette table in his blacks with his datapadd and frowning curiously at Boba, his ears pricked up a bit in interest. 

Boba looked back to his comm and answered absently, “My squad.” 

“You don’t have a squad.” Arreru’s voice was all wary disbelief. 

Boba shrugged as best he could laying down, some weird surge of something- reluctance, maybe?- prompting him to keep his mouth shut. 

After a long moment of silence, Arreru abruptly stood. Startled, Boba looked up, and caught with bewilderment something dark rolling across Arreru’s face as he stalked across the room. “Right,” he huffed tightly. “Wish I had known from the start all I had to do was get you drunk once.” 

Boba frowned after him, confused. Frustration rapidly followed the confusion; what was he supposed to make of that...?

His comm buzzed again, and he startled. An idea formed. 

**_Hey. I think Arreru’s mad at me, but I don’t know why._ **

_ Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise? _

Boba flushed and scowled. 

**_Never mind then_ **

_No no, come back, B-L is just being a[besom](https://www.mandoa.org) _

_What’s going on, vod’ika?_

**_I told him I was comming you guys, then he got all huffy and stormed out._ **

_*Did he say anything?*_

**_Yeah, he said ‘wish I knew all I had to do was get you drunk’ or something_ **

_..._

_..._

_*...*_

_~...~_

_‘...’_

_/.../_

**_What?_ **

_~So, I don’t know how to tell you this~_

_~But Lucky~_

_~Have you and he hung out at all since you started hanging out with us?~_

Boba’s frown deepened. 

**_No. But we never really spent time together before either._ **

_..._

_*...*_

_~...~_

_‘...’_

_“...”_

_/.../_

_... Oh no. The poor boy’s defective._

_B-L! be nice!_

_I’m not wrong, am I?!_

**_What are you talking about?_ **

_/Didnt you say Arreru sits your corner in one-on-ones?/_

**_Yeah. So?_ **

_/So youre fast and firm with a bunch of people who got you drunk and arrested once a few days ago, but dont have the time of day for someone whos sat your corner how many times?/_

Boba paused. Considered that. 

**_We haven’t really been hanging out. We’ve been doing punishment detail, it’s different._ **

_yeah but you’re also comming with us like an hour after the shift ended_

**_Don’t get why that would make him all irritated._ **

_how else is he supposed to feel?_

_Sweet Force, vod’ika, get off your comm and go spend some time with your friend!_

Boba started to type ‘He’s not my friend’ without even thinking about it and froze halfway through. The denial was automatic, rote even. But why...?

**_You’re not my minder._ **

Leaving it there, Boba muted his comm and set it aside, shedding his armor and beginning to clean it on autopilot. As his hands worked, he thought about what made a friend. 

His comm buzzing aggressively to signal an incoming holocall startled him out of his thoughts. Frowning, he answered. 

Healer To-mae popped up in blue miniature, seated in her chair as always, but this time with arms crossed sternly. Despite the crossed arms, her eyes danced with amusement. 

“ _I thought I advised you to make some friends,_ ” she huffed, tone somewhere between scolding and laughter. “ _Not get arrested._ ” 

Boba couldn’t help quipping back dryly, “What’s the difference?” 

To-mae gave up even faking stern, throwing back her head and laughing. “ _I must admit, I shouldn’t have expected anything else from a Mando’ade.”_ She shook her head, still chuckling, and reached out of the frame, pulling back her hand with a mug in it and curling into her more usual casual position. Boba had no idea how she managed to nearly lounge in armor, but he envied it a bit. Once settled, she met his eyes again. “ _So. Tell me about your new friends._ ” 

Boba rolled his eyes, slumping back against the wall and picking up his chestplate again to continue cleaning his armor while they talked. “Complete and utter [shebs’e](https://www.mandoa.org), the lot of them...” 


End file.
